#(both end with a certain amount of personal satisfaction and going forward in new ways 🥰)

[sersi]

Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) | Loki 2.06: Glorious Purpose (2023)

[redwineconversation]

Olympique Lyonnais - ASSE OLPlay Postgame Interviews

Slowly but surely making my way through the backlog.

Blah blah standard disclaimers apply; if you do invasive shit your ass should be banned from stadiums (maybe THEN you will finally learn!!!); @OL Comms Dept it's fall aka PSL weather; y'all know the speech.

I am not too proud to admit that I had major concerns when Lyon first recruited Vanessa Gilles. How times have changed. Also hard to believe this is the same person Horan said was a massive introvert beginning of last season.

Gilles' interview ft Horan was one of the most chaotic things I have ever seen, and the "condensed" version Lyon posted on Instagram doesn't do the live version justice. Pure and utter chaos, and completely endearing.

Lyon and myself to Vanessa Gilles:

SONIA BOMPASTOR POSTGAME INTERVIEW

Bompastor: Obviously satisfied with the result, three points, and we're top of the table. It's a good thing. So, satisfied overall. Within the context of the game, I think we saw some really good things. I liked what my team presented this evening. So, a lot of satisfaction and we're on a really good streak.

Journalist: We still get the feeling we saw a game of two halves. Lyon was in complete control the first half, the second half was a bit more complicated.

Bompastor: Yeah, we struggled to get going again in the second half. Several different factors can explain that. There were a few substitutions at half time, so that took a while to get going. But also I think the game was very physical, there were a lot of fouls, a lot of stoppage of play. We saw that with the amount of extra time at the end. And so it's not easy in those conditions to keep your rhythm and impose your style of play. I was a little bit frustrated in that regard. But sometimes you just have to deal with it.

Journalist: We also would like a quick word on Lindsey [Horan], who scored a hat trick. For us in the studio, she was voted Player of the Match. Do you agree?

Bompastor: Yes, yes. Lindsey [Horan] had a really great performance. We saw it in the second half, but she had a great game overall. At halftime we showed her one or two clips where she could have pushed forward more and be more decisive. She was able to do that in the second half. She pushed forward a lot, both in the penalty area and also she scored a hat trick, so for her confidence, it's good, for the team as well. When you have Lindsey playing at that level, it's always really positive.

Journalist: For the team, there was a substitute which concerned us a little bit, it was Wendie Renard. Do you have any news?

Bompastor: Listen, it's too soon. In any case, as you saw, we took her off. I think we'll see how she feels tomorrow. We might do some additional exams and tests, and cross our fingers.

Journalist: One last question about the calendar. There are two away games, against Reims and maybe the big clash of the beginning of the season in Paris, but against Paris FC.

Bompastor: Yes, there will obviously the away game next week at Reims, in the Stade Auguste Delaune [Note: the big stadium]. There'll be the international break, and then right after the end of the international break we have Paris FC. Now, I've said it since the beginning of the season, we have a lot of ambition, a talented roster. So we stay concentrated on what we can and should do. The opponents, we give them all the same respect. Obviously when we're preparing for a game we focus on certain elements, but if we play at our level, with the talent and quality we have, we should be able this season to do some really good things. So yeah. Respect the opponents obviously, but have confidence in ourselves and put our game in place so that we can perform at our best.

VANESSA GILLES (FT LINDSEY HORAN) POSTGAME INTERVIEW

Gilles: First of all, thank you. I think it's a derby. A derby is never easy. As the saying goes here in France, you don't play a derby, you win it. I think we saw that with all the physical tackles throughout the game. So hopefully we get to go home with zero injured players. But especially six goals scored, it's - that's not done every day.

[Gilles looks resigned as Horan comes into the shot]

Horan: What was the question?

[Gilles completely loses it]

Journalist: So we have the Player of the Game and Vanessa Gilles. [Gilles is still losing it]. Vanessa, I have a quick question about your goal celebration. Can you tell us about that celebration?

Horan: No, we can't. [Gilles loses it again] We can't talk about that celebration. We can't.

Gilles: [imitating Horan's accent] We can't. [Horan loses it] We can't.

Journalist: Okay, then I'd like you to say something about your teammate, Lindsey Horan, whom we voted Player of the Game.

Gilles: Her? Player of the Game?

Journalist: Well she did score a hat trick. It was her first one for Lyon, that's pretty impressive for her part.

Gilles: If you say so. [Gilles and Horan both lose it]

Horan: Use your words.

Gilles: No, I'm really happy for her. A hat trick, it's [to Horan] Can you stop? I'm trying to be nice.

Horan: Okay, okay.

Gilles: It's true that we don't score hat tricks every day. I'm really happy for her and I hope it's the first of many for her at Lyon. Beyond that, she deserves it, she puts in so much work, sometimes we don't see it, like - how do you say it - defensively, etc. She puts in so much work, she's on every ball, she always puts her teammates in the right situation. So I'm happy that she scored that hat trick because she deserves it.

Journalist: We'll continue with Lindsey right after this, but one last question, Vanessa. We have a statistic, it's that you scored five goals in D1 Arkema, five headers. It's obviously your strong point.

Gilles: Yeah.

Horan: [patting Gilles on the head] The golden head.

Gilles: I don't score often with my feet, so - [Horan completely loses it] It's not a statistic that surprises me.

[Horan and Gilles lose it]

Horan: [still laughing] Incredible stat.

Journalist: Thank you very much, Vanessa. [Gilles completely loses it again]

Journalist: [in English] Lindsey, congratulations for the game. [Gilles is still loses it in the background]

Gilles: [to Horan] Do you need a translator or can I go?

Journalist: [to Gilles] [sounding resigned] You can stay to translate if you want.

Journalist: [in English] The first question - I'm going to do it in French - [in French] the first question, as we said, you were voted Player of the Game. How do you feel after your hat trick? It was your first hat trick with Lyon.

Horan: [in English] How do I feel about it? Sorry, that [your French] was quick. No, I'm very happy, I'm happy we won the game obviously. It's a cool moment for me, it's my first hat trick with the club, with Lyon. I know Sean has it, my ball, somewhere here. But obviously my team put me in good situations to score for tonight.

Journalist: It was a derby, it was highly anticipated here in Lyon against ASSE. For you whom are coming from overseas, is it something you have to learn to take seriously?

Gilles: Well -

Horan: [in English] Well we can see it.

Gilles: The fact we're not allowed to wear green here, that tells us how important the game is.

Horan: [in English] What she said. I felt like what you said was good.

Journalist: More broadly, regarding the team's beginning of the season, we only have wins, no goals conceded. It's a perfect start of the season.

Horan: Yes, we have a really good goalkeeper [Note: she uses the French word for goalkeeper but literally pronounces it as "gardian"].

[Gilles loses it]

Gilles: [in English] Pick a language.

Horan: Franglais is better.

Horan: [in English] One, I think it's a credit to - not just Vanessa - but all of the team defensively and what they do in the backline. As for how our team is progressing forward, we don't want to concede any goals, we want to go and win every single game and continue to play good football.

Journalist: One last question. [Gilles and Horan lose it] There are two more games coming up -

Gilles: I don't know why we're laughing.

Journalist: [nervous laughter] Indeed, it's a little complicated. One last question and we're done. [in English] Lindsey, one more question. Two big games to come. Two away games - [Gilles is still losing it] - against Reims and against Paris FC. [Horan starts laughing as well] It's maybe the biggest one, Paris FC, for the beginning of the season.

Horan: [in English] Yeah. Well I think we focus first on the game against Reims next week. I think that's most important. Have our bodies recover for that game because we took a lot -

Gilles: [to Horan in English] We took a lot of hits out there?

Horan: [to Gilles in English] Well it's true! Was that your answer over there? This is a different interview, isn't it?

Gilles: [in English] Well it's still my answer!

Horan: [in English] Goodness me. Anyway. Focus on that game and then we can move forward.

Journalist: [in English] [sounding depressed] Thank you.

[myrulia]

"Are they bothering you love?" - Kokushibou x Reader

.｡.:*✧Synopsis: You are out with your demon of a lover, hiding in plain sight in modern times as you both are simply walking in public to enjoy the night sky. All comes crashing down when a bold male approaches you, yet Kokushibou is there to protect you for he is your one and only.

.｡.:*✧Warning: Stranger with no filter

.｡.:*✧Word count: 1,647

It was such a beautiful night, unlike any other for that fact. After endless amounts of begging to Kokushibou, he finally agreed to going out with you. The moon seemed to radiate brilliantly in the night sky, all the while beaming down on the two of you who had a rather hard time struggling to hide the fact that you were demons. It went as far as Kokushibou closing the top and bottom pair of his eyes just so that the two of you could wander around safely. It was awkward to say the least - since you are used to seeing all 6 of his inscrutable eyes look at you with such love and adoration - but it was something that you adjusted to quickly.

Now walking side by side, out in the wake of the night, you both were simply enjoying each other's company, disregarding anyone else who was also out in the bustling area of the city, for there was multiple fairy lights hanging above the certain street you chose to wander about on that caught your attention, so you basically dragged Kokushibou along with you.

`` It is very pretty this time of night, `` you stated in your usual soothing voice to your much taller lover who was staring bright eyed and bushy tailed at the sheer amount of lights above your heads. It was bright to say the least but it really caught his attention, which made it the experience mean so much more to him. `` I must agree with you, it is beautiful, but I do not think it is as beautiful as you. ``

To Kokushibou, the compliment was normal and he said such words with ease as the poetic statement rolled off his tongue without struggle. You on the other hand was notably having a hard time keeping your composure, for the end of your ears became a scarlet red at his words. `` You believe that wholeheartedly? I mean look around, this place is absolutely beautiful. The sakura trees are even blooming. ``

`` [Y/N], how could you believe I do not actually mean that? You are beautiful and that's that. `` Looking down at your smiling face, the demon could not help but to smile ever so slightly in return at your flushed ears. He knew just what to say at just the right time to make you a flustered mess in a matter of seconds. He really did have a way with words.

Time seemed to fly by effortlessly, due to the both of you spending most of it window shopping and actually entering the multiple ones available for entering. Courtesy of your behavior, you dragged Kokushibou along with you into a plethora of stores that had all types of clothes to choose from. It was mainly due to the fact that you have never seen him smile this much before when the both of you are out. Usually he does do a pretty good job of keeping up a stoic expression, but this time, watching him struggle was adorable.

In a particular men's clothing store, you had your demon of a lover try on many different styles and options that you picked out yourself. It was almost like a mini fashion show with how much you really made him wear - but the Upper Moon One could not complain one bit. Your smile itself never faltered and so his resisted doing the same. Seeing you so cheerful just made him want to make sure you never stopped, even if it meant embarrassing a big man like himself in public by wearing a few questionable items of clothing.

After your little fashion montage, you both exited the store once the less than approachable store manager seemed to become aggravated with how you only tried on things instead of buying them. Just as you were finishing letting out a small giggle in reaction to the chain of events that occurred, you eyed a particular shop that seemed to have colorful clouds on a stick. What were they? You had no idea.

`` Cotton candy, `` you heard a testosterone-heavy voice say. You knew all too well who it was so looking up at Kokushibou, you eyed his gaze, but to your surprise he was looking at the same colorful clouds you were also looking at. `` Lets try it then! ``

And with that, you grabbed his hand, intertwining your much smaller fingers with his and, and soon enough the both of you were now entering the store with bright eyes, even brighter than earlier. You looked around hurriedly, trying to see what others in the store were doing so you could understand what you are supposed to do with the cloud-looking objects. Kokushibou unfortunately looked just as confused as you, who eyed anyone else in the store until it finally hit him - and his senses for that matter.

`` Love, "cotton candy" is a food. You are supposed to eat it, `` he said in a calm manner, all the while pointing at a certain mother and her son indulging in the sweet smelling treat. `` Then I guess we are trying something new..~ ``

Pulling out your wallet, you walk up to the counter and swiftly paid for the sweet treats you yourself was definitely excited about trying. The sweet smell flooded your nose and it was becoming unbearable, so turning around, you are met with the shocking sight of Kokushibou already holding a [F/C] one and a purple one. He held an obvious smile on your face that really allowed you to appreciate how handsome he looked when he wore his emotions on his sleeve. `` You seem eager to try them, `` you teased while grabbing the stick that held up the cotton candy from him. 

`` How could I not? It smells wonderful. `` Now having your sweet treats in hand, you both exited the candy shop, now being back on the bustling street that had many pedestrians who looked just as happy as the next person. It was refreshing to say the least, being out with the one you love the most and being able to enjoy your time together. It felt utterly amazing.

`` Lets bite at the same time. 3, 2, 1- `` as soon as you hit one, Kokushibou pulled off a chunk of the cotton candy and placed it inside his mouth, allowing the once soft substance to melt on his taste buds and overflood his senses once more. He lets out a surprised hum of satisfaction and turned to you taking a rather large bite out of the cotton candy instead of pulling a piece off. Your eyes doubled in size at how it melted inside your mouth, the sugar taking over on your tongue, and so you also let out a hum. `` It is delicious! Let me try yours! ``

Lowering his arm, you grab a piece from Kokushibou's cotton candy and stuff it into your mouth as well, letting out another content hum that made your husband smile. `` Enjoying yourself? `` He teased.

`` Yes indeed I am!- ``

`` I can make you enjoy yourself in other ways. ``

Your eyes left from Kokushibou's to where the mysterious voice originated from. Looking wide eyed, you swallow a hard lump that clogged your esophagus as you tilt your head to the side, being obviously confused with what you just heard. `` Excuse me? ``

`` Aside from being sexy, what else do you do for a living? We might have the same profession. ``

At that point your eyes actually tripled in size at the boldness of this complete stranger. To even think someone would have the audacity and mindset to do such things really ticked you off, so letting out an obviously sarcastic laugh, you were about to say something until he spoke up once more. `` Come on beautiful there's no need to say anything. How about we go on a date here? ``

You felt sick to your stomach and before you could properly react, Kokushibou's hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you moderately behind his body, giving you his cotton candy afterwards. He was now standing in between you and the random stranger who damn near ruined your date. Kokushibou is both obviously tall and intimidating, and being 6'3 does have its perks - especially in situations like now. Although, he did have to lean down, just a bit, so he could properly speak to the douche bag. 

`` Are they bothering you, love? `` He spoke in that same aggressive tone that sent shivers down your spine with just how heavy and deep it was. You peaked from behind your lover's shoulder to really see what was going on, and to your surprise the male who was previously doing a horrible job and hitting on you now had his eyes damn near pop out of his socket. `` Yes, they are actually. ``

Kokushibou now changed his smiling expression to a more darker one, now having his 3 pairs of eyes open only for the double bag to see. He leaned forward and that caused for the stranger to step back, huffing out and crossing his arms. `` Who the hell are you? ``

`` This beautiful woman's husband, `` and that was all that came from his lips before Kokushibou took another step forward, and just like that the stranger is suddenly running in the other direction. It took every nerve and fibre in your being not to laugh at the situation that just unfolded and ended just like that, and so stepping out from behind your husband who hid his other two pairs of eyes once more, you look up at his expression once he is finally standing up tall and proud. `` Well thank you darling..~ ``

`` Do not say it in that tone or I will make you thankful for another thing in a few seconds, `` Kokushibou teased back while grabbing his cotton candy from your hand, going back to indulging in yet another piece as you two continued your walk down the bustling street.

`` You enjoyed that, didn't you? ``

`` How could I not? I had to tell him you are mine, and mine alone. ``

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Fun fact; I looked up pick-up lines to use🏃🏾‍♀️

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

@ava-sr said: EE i do apologize that this is late, but maybe a small request because of my moblit-brainrot. which dates he would like to take you on? maybe like one of those guided painting classes? aGh all i know is that man is the absolute sweetest and i love him with all my heart

Types of dates with Moblit pt.1

{ Moblit x reader | tw:none | fluff | modern }

{ "Vanitas Still Life" 1662 by Edwaert Collier c. 1640 - after 1707 London or Leiden }

Ideal dates : these are dates he plans up ahead, makes sure they go smoothly and you're both are having fun. He really looks forward to these dates, they're like an event for him. He saves them up for important occasions like your anniversary, valentine's day, birthday.

I. Cuddling for hours at a time

you have to understand that in Moblit's overworked and stressful life, moments of respite are rare and far. He's so deprived of touch and love that it's a miracle how he has managed to function without even a beep. The thought of having someone to warm his bed, cradle his worries and put them to rest by simply combing through his hair, never crossed his mind despite having a hundred thoughts running through it per minute.

Some days he manages to forget your existence even, not out of some selfish desire or to belittle you, but out of disbelief, after all it's too good to be true.

You're too good to be true to him.

Your tender words pull him back each time he blindly steps closer to the edge, a never-ending spiral of self-destructive work tendencies awaiting him at the bottomless abyss. Your warm embrace shutting out the swarm of nagging voices meant to guilt him out of rest, to act as if the key to curing his sleep deprivation was to not acknowledge its existence, that fatigue symptoms could be erased by his own homemade placebo remedies.

As if your mere touch could turn anything to gold, and in his case, it did. 

It was what made the difference between an anxiety inducing catastrophic day, and a mere rough stepping stone he could easily manoeuvre around leaving his pace steady and undisturbed.

Reminding that it's okay to fail, to give something your best only for it to crumble to dust. It's a process of trial and error, it takes time and patience.

You don't get to choose how well things end up working out, it's not up to you nor is it your place.

And that's why for him, his ideal place in the world is in your arms, to simply let the rise and fall of your chest lull him into comfortable numbness. His features softening as the oxytocin levels rise, courtesy of your warm embrace, soft skin providing just the right pressure against his own.

Laying on your shared bed together, the soft breeze coming from the open windows moves the thin curtains. Moblit is Holding you close as one of his arms sneak around you, fingertips tracing shapes up and down your back. Face buried in your shoulder as yours rests on top of his head, stray hairs almost tickling your nose when you brush against them.

The passing of time does little to his cotton filled mind, occasionally attempting to pull you even more closer as if it's possible. Legs tangled with yours under the heavy blanket despite him hogging most of it.

Every now and then, when a certain amount of time passes, he'd look at you with half-closed eyes, a lidded look of satisfaction before murmuring in his sleepy voice.

"Do you want to get up?" And despite his sincere words and warm tone, his body makes no move to detach itself from your side.

Does he know the soothing effect of the circles he keeps drawing up your back? Or how much him talking with his lips still pressed against your neck makes you melt just a bit.

Whatever it is, Moblit seems confident in his ability to keep you snuggled against him, tucked underneath the warm blanket and fluffy pillows almost muffling your answer.

II. Visiting a music bar

Preferably something with soft yellowish lights, small enough spaces not meant for dancing but to create an intimate atmosphere akin to a music venue.

A jazz club, maybe a brewery.

Dimmed sunlight seeping through the thin curtained window, shadow traces of people smoking outside while making small talk, cushioned bar stools placed around the long bar with a mirrored wall behind it as several aged bottles and fancy glasses with signatures decorate the wooden shelves.

The quiet chatter of people blurring behind the mellow music the band is playing on the nearby stage, smooth movement with relaxed postures as if they've done this a hundred times before, and they probably have.

You're sitting in one of the booths near the window, a private spot where you're far enough for people not to notice yet close enough to still hear the music flowing.

The beat is slow, hypnotising even that the minutes blur together. 

Moblit giving you a smile as he comes back with your drinks, sitting opposite of you before handing you the cold glass, ice cubes clinking against each other as you raise the frosted rim to your lips, sugary sweet filling your senses, the cooling sensation of the drink slides down your throat.

There's a hint of citrus in it.

You've learned to trust Moblit's choice in drinks after being together for so long, he just knows what's going to taste good and which kind of drink you seem to need without having to say a word.

He seems comfortable here, even referring to the bartender by his name like they've been friends for a while, and maybe they have judging by the out-of-script welcoming he gave Moblit.

One conversation starts another and both of you find it so easy to talk to each other without boundaries or second thoughts, the smiles and occasional chuckles almost never leaving your features while nursing on your drinks.

He tells you stories from his work and about his co-workers. You find yourself entranced by his seemingly abusered line of work and the amount of chuckle worthy instances a single work day can offer.

That one time Hange knocked the liquid incense oils that someone Levi brought to freshen the place, well to their luck the oils fell directly on an open flame from the nearby scented candle which resulted in the fire spreading through the liquid alcohol between the broken glass.

And despite the feeling of dread, from seeing his files catch on fire this story brings him, the sound of your chocked laughter as you almost spilled your drink over your clothes, made it all worth it for him.

III. Antique shop

There was something to be said about Moblit's yearning for especially old looking things, trinkets, crumpled maps, tea stained letters and silvered mirrors.

You can't miss the gleam in his eyes as he opens the antique store door open for you the chime of the door bells following after. The smell of burning incense lingering in the air alongside the slow ticking of an old wooden clock.

The look on his face is of pure fascination, his eyes following the trail of the objects lined on the tables, from the old oil paintings with hand carved frames to the crystals reflecting sunlight next to the colourful stones. Observing as he carefully walks behind you through the narrow spaces between the tables and shelves. 

Pulling your attention whenever he finds a particular curious thing to show you as if it's an offering, it can range from music boxes with a really familiar melody that you can't quite remember or a beautifully shaped rose quartz stone that feels cool against your palm.

Whatever he brings, it often manages to intrigue you in some way. Moblit could always notice things other people would skip over otherwise, scanning the tables was like a small treasure hunt.

He'd always pick one or two leather journals, almost filled to the brim with ink scribbled pages and tea stained spots, personal diaries dating back to the 90's and if he's lucky they might edge towards the 80'. He likes to read them, live in someone else's shoes even for a split second, puzzle pieces falling in place as he figures out what kind of person the author was.

Of course sharing his discoveries with you while having lunch later, not out of pride nor to show off, but out of genuine respect to other people's lives and their dedication for leaving behind a piece of their soul.

IX. Roadtrip 

It's something he plans months ahead in advance, he genuinely wants to make the best out of the few weeks off both of you got to spend together. Making sure to plan a set of destinations, preparing snacks and food, packing your essentials and renting a big enough van.

A small getaway even, to completely leave everything behind and set out on a carefully planned adventure with the one he loves most, you.

Enjoying the fresh weather, the high sun and fast wind as both of you roll down the windows, fields of green and yellow meet you alongside the road the further away you move from the city.

Although be careful; the Moblit behind the wheel is a much much more different than the one you know, he's using all what remains of his self-restraint not to speed down the highway and swirl, the thought crosses his mind every hour or so and he's visibly agitated when you're forced to drive behind a particularly slow driver.

You might even have to remind him of the speed limit occasionally just so you don't end up with a pile of speeding tickets at the end of the trip.

It's like all his usually cautious and calculating demner evaporates into mist the second he touches the steering wheel, Temptations of just flooring it while high on adrenaline still linger in the back of his mind.

Beside that, the trip is a relatively calm one as you get to bask in all the new and different places you'll get to visit. Try new food and walk through different city streets, just the experience of something out of the usual is enough to satisfy Mobilt. Not to mention the fact he gets to experience it with you and just wander around without a purpose or care as long as you're together.

He'll definitely keep in mind what sort of things you seem to like, what intrigues you and the kind of reactions you show. He even started an album filled with mostly your pictures and the things you've seen.

It's most relaxing and filled with low stakes, nothing too fancy but nothing too boring either. Walking the thin line perfectly.

X. Visiting a museum

But not just any museum you see, one centred around natural history. Displaying everything from ancient fossils to full on skeleton displays of a 122 foot titanosaur, depictions of distant relatives of homosapiens and modern evolution trees of the current animals.

Moblit guiding you through the shiny tile floor and between the exhibits while holding your hand, eyes gleaming with passion as he goes on and on about each thing you glance at. Making all the trivial facts seem more fascinating than they have any right to be.

The squeaking sound of footsteps echoing on the too clean floors as four children pass you by, racing each other towards the iron suits of armour on display. They almost fall over the red ropes from leaning too close in, their caregiver seemingly busy talking with a security guard over the 'smoking not allowed' sign. 

You spare them a final glance before following Moblit through the corridor leading to the world history & old inventions section. Soon enough he steals your attention again as he begins talking about the first airplane prototype that you can't help but be enamoured by.

Despite there being a sign framed on the wall that sums up the jest of Moblit's lecture, he manages to make it not only less boring but add his own twist and uncommon known facts to it that it feels less of a history trip and of an interesting conversation.

He has so much knowledge that he's so eager not to only share but hear your own opinion and take on it, valuing your view no matter what amount of knowledge you have over the subject.

XI. Painting together

It's an idea that you offhandedly suggested after your museum visit, after all spending an hour in the Impressionism era gallery did leave an impression on you. And so the suggestion of checking out an art store for some acrylics and a couple brushes left your lips on the way home without a second thought.

Well little did you know that the small suggestion managed to latch into Moblit's brain for weeks after, making him spend his free time searching and gaining information on painting and how to start, he even managed to find some really good classes having a limited time course sale

That's how both of you end up in a guided painting class, seated next to each other with aprons on and a pallet to mix paint tubes in. You'll find out how much of a fast learner Moblit is, so much that most of the class he spends guiding your hand through the steps and offering his help whenever possible, although he still remembers not to be overbearing and still gives you space.

Both of you are in your own bubble from the class, being with him makes you feel easy and more reassured. He's like your very own comfort corner that you seek in every party, except that he can walk around with you and always looks out for you.

And whatever you end up putting on that canvas, Moblit will cherish more than any renaissance painting, will even insist on hanging it somewhere in the apartment.

[mhaverse-writes]

burning cold. (dabi x prohero!reader)

author’s note: oh, hi. uh, this is awkward. remember when i said i was coming back like months ago then i didn’t? good times, good times. well after a rough patch irl, i’m officially back! hope you didn’t miss me too much uwu. anyways, onto the story, i hope you enjoy! thanks for reading <3 - with love, rj

description: while working undercover at a club looking for a target, you run into the last person you wanted to see. the dangerous villain, dabi, who just so happens to be your very forbidden ex. though you’re trying to move on, dabi isn’t ready to let you go just yet.

warnings: cursing, suggestive content (some smoochin’ and heavy pettin’ ya dig?), dabi being massive a dick

                                             ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"Hey, baby. You come here often?"

"Go to hell, Dabi."

From your seat at the bar, you take a quick sip of your drink before checking that your ear piece was off. You glance around to make sure none of your colleagues have noticed the poorly-disguised villain trying to 'pick you up,' but let out a tiny sigh of relief as they're too preoccupied with scouting for the target. Dabi chuckles, drawing your attention back to him, his smug face souring your mood the longer you look at it.

"If you're here to arrest me, you're doing a shit job at it," He idly runs his finger across the rim of his glass while resting his elbow against the bar and his head in his hand. His lack of caution with the fact that he's sitting next to a literal pro-hero isn't anything new, but it still annoyed you to no end. Did he see you as some kind of joke? Or he just knows you aren't going to do anything about it. God, the fact that he's so certain of his safety pisses you off even more.

"Shut up, I'm not here for you," Snapping with a bite that only makes his grin widen, you turn in your seat rather fast, spilling a little bit of your drink onto the floor. You ignore it, and do your best to ignore him as you rake your gaze across who you were really here for. Dabi turns as well, making a show of stretching before resting his arm behind you on the bar table. You feel your eye twitch, risking a look at him. He has his hand over his heart in mock hurt.

"Your claws wound me, kitten." Though he's speaking in his usual lazy drawl, somehow it isn't hard to hear him over the vibrating bass of music pounding your ears. It also didn't fail to send a tiny chill down your spine at the sound of the almost nostalgic nickname. You do your best to quell it, but it's Dabi of fucking course he notices. His grin is nearly lecherous, but he doesn't speak on it, thank God.

"Why are you here anyway? How did you find me?" Curiosity getting the better of you (the whole summation of your relationship with Dabi, if you're being honest) you turn to meet his icy blue stare, scowling hard to make sure you didn't get lost in it.

"Maybe 'I'm not here for you.'" Dabi parrots, eyes not leaving yours as he takes a sip of his drink. Your first instinct is to call bullshit, but a nagging insecurity at the back of your brain envisions him with someone else. Jealousy churns in your stomach, ugly and rancid, before you bury it down in disgust. Why should I care? Your rational side argues. It's good that he's moved on, that way he'll leave me the hell alone. But you know deep down, you're lying to yourself. Though you're pretty sure you'd rather nosedive off a cliff before admitting that.

Either way, you've entertained this long enough already. Grabbing your drink, you down the rest of it before moving to stand. The muted surprise on Dabi's face-- though it's as simple as his eyes widening the smallest amount-- doesn't fail to bring you satisfaction. He may think you're willing to give him all of your attention, but you are more than happy to prove him wrong.

Dabi, however, obviously is not.

Before you can even think, Dabi's hand snatches your wrist and drags you backward, sending you careening into his chest. You scoff up at him. Was he being serious right now?

"What the hell do you think you're--?!"

Dabi's lips fall to your ear and you're barely able to contain a shiver. "Your little 'target,' is onto you, kit. Three o' clock." Eyes widening, you instinctively turn to look, but Dabi tightens his hold on your wrist and whisks you away, leaving you stumbling after him as you try to keep up with his long legs. He expertly weaves you both through the oblivious crowd, before bodily moving you into a tiny corner on the other side of the club. You try to check on your teammates, but your attention is snatched by Dabi as he takes up every inch of your vision, pinning you against the wall. His cold eyes twinkle with amusement as he takes you in slowly.

"Y'know, I really missed you, sweet thing," You would almost think he's sincere if it weren't for the way he isn't sincere at all. He dips his head down and presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. You can't help but whimper, kicking yourself mentally right after. You can't do this right now! Your target is not only suspicious of you, but the fact your team could catch you with Dabi at any second seizes your stomach with fear. You reach up to your ear piece to turn it on. If you request assistance, maybe you could scare Dabi off.

Your fingers graze only the empty inside of your ear. Panic bubbles in you, burning cold. You look up at Dabi, to find your earpiece clutched daintily between his teeth. No. You reach forward, but aren't fast enough to stop him before he crushes it with a flex of his jaw.

You're alone.

Alone with him.

"Aw, don't look so scared, kit." He spits the busted thing out. You don't have time to register how gross that is before he takes another step close, even closer, bowing his head until your noses brush. Dabi's eyes flick down to your mouth. Your heart stops. "I'll protect you."

His lips crash into yours and you can't help the moan that leaves from deep in your chest at the feeling. Completely losing all reason, you arch into Dabi, hands grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him flush against you. You feel him smirk against your lips and a small part of you argues that you giving into him is a bad thing. But honestly, can it be so bad when it feels so unbelievably good?

Dabi pulls away all too soon and you damn near whine, chasing after his lips fruitlessly. Leaning back to his full height, Dabi considers you while looking all too pleased with himself. You’re too blissed out to care. God, you'd forgotten what his kiss felt like, did it always knock the breath out of you so fast?

"Here's the sitch, hero." He says, calloused hands tracing your features. You melt into them, despite yourself. "I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t here for you. Thing is, the little snitch you're after has unfinished business with us. And you taking him in--well--causes some problems for me and my team."

That gets you. Snapping out of your stupor, you blink up at him, eyebrows creasing. Is this what this was? He was only trying to distract you? You dig your nails into your palms, cursing yourself for not seeing this sooner. If Dabi was here, damn well Toga or someone else could be here too. If Toga was here, you wouldn't even know who she was. What if she already took advantage of you abandoning your post and snatched up the target? Hell, she could already be halfway back to their base with him!

"You bastard!" Damn near snarling, you shove him back with all your might, face hot with embarrassment. "Is that why you cornered me here? To get me away from your fucking snitch?!" Dabi merely chuckles. God, you wanted to punch him right in his stupid mouth.

"No, baby. I brought you here because I missed you,” His thumb ran over your bottom lip, retreating when you tried to bite him. “And tell you to back off.” Though he's still smiling, all humor has drained from his voice, making your blood run cold. "I'd hate to have to dirty up that pretty little outfit of yours. I'll take it from here."

"Like hell you w--!"

"There you are!"

The voice of your superior sends relief and fear rushing in you at the same time. You whirl to face her, trying to mask the shame threatening to swallow you whole.

"S-starlight!" You squeak, standing at attention. You glance at Dabi, to find he's already gone, the dancing crowd overtaking where he once stood. Oh, thank God, you think, before freezing up again. He was off to get the target. You didn't have much time.

"Where did you go?" Starlight demands, her iridescent nails digging into your shoulders as she grasped them. "I was worried you'd been compromised."

"W-we're not alone, Star," You stutter out, mind still reeling from the feeling of Dabi against you. Despite the fact he tricked you, it didn't stop the way your body still tingled at the thought of him. Jesus, you were done for. "The League is here, they're after the target too!" You left out Dabi. You left out Dabi?! Fuck, you were protecting him!

"What? Did they hurt y--?"

"No, no, I'm okay. But we need to hurry before--!"

Before you could finish, the sound of screams ripped your body from the inside out. Oh, no.

You and Starlight rush into action, following the screams towards the middle of the dance floor, where a crowd had gathered. You noticed the rest of your team pushing against people as well, struggling to get to the middle. But you didn't have to get there to see what happened next.

Blue flames fanned out in a hot arc, prompting the crowd to back away even further, shoving you and Starlight back. Dabi emerged from the fire, clutching your limp target, a sweaty, plump, balding man by the collar of his shirt. God, was he...?

"Dabi!" Starlight shouts, pure energy bursting to life from her palms. She used a beam of hard light to propel herself up and over the crowd, aiming towards the man. Your heart drops. For Starlight, Dabi, or both, you're not even sure.

Before she can reach him, however, Dabi takes off, using his flames to scare the crowd away, clearing a path for himself. The fire begins to spread and everyone shakes out of their shock to replace it with panic. The people run in different directions, struggling to escape the flames. Starlight and your teammates attempt to fight the crowd and chase the villain, but you stay stuck to the spot, cradling yourself to find some sense of comfort. You knew they weren't going to catch him. You've lost the target.

And it's all your fault.

Sighing, you kick into gear, following Starlight and pushing against the panic and eventually making it outside. The chill of the night is refreshing, but does nothing to ease the weight on your chest. Though you knew Dabi was long gone, it hurt even more to see it. He had played you. Again.

And something tells you it won't be the last time.

[rainy-day-gracie]

Old Friends 1

spencer reid x reader

Chapter 2 has been posted!!

Chapter 1: 

Walking into the BAU on my first day felt like walking into kindergarten on the first day of school. Butterflies filled my stomach, and the elevator felt too small. 

   Walking through the glass doors of the BAU, my first impression was calm. No one seemed to notice my existence, and the large box full of my stuff in my hands. 

    I made a beeline for Agent Hotchner’s office and quickly knocked on the door. “Come in.” 

    “Um, hello, Agent Hotchner-“ 

    He looked up at me from his desk, suddenly realizing who I was. “Ah, yes, Agent YLN. I’ll show you to your desk right away.” He put a reassuring pat on my shoulder before guiding me back down the stairs into the bullpen. 

    “Attention everyone, this is SSA Dr. YFN YLN. She will be joining the team today, and will be with us on future cases.”

    A friendly blonde woman stepped forward and kindly shook my hand after I placed the large box on the empty desk. “I’m SSA Jennifer Jareau, but everyone here just calls me JJ.”

   I smiled nervously. “Very nice to meet you, JJ.”

   I scanned the group of people beginning to get up from their desks. A muscled, dark skinned man. A woman with dark black hair. An older man I recognized as David Rossi. And the person I knew all too well. 

    “Oh, hello, new person!” A voice called from up the stairs. A blonde woman wearing a bright pink dress stood there holding a stack of files. “Hate to interrupt introductions, but we have a case.” 

     The team started filing up the stairs, and a warm hand pulled me aside. 

     “Hey,” Spencer said quietly, as if in a trance. 

     “Hey, Spencer,” I replied. “I would love to catch up later, but we have to get upstairs. Is that cool?” 

      He snapped out of the daze he seemed to be in. “Oh, oh, yeah totally fine.” 

     I laughed quietly as we hurried slightly up the stairs. Same old Spencer. 

  “Four women in Birmingham, Alabama, electrocuted on chain link fences. All married with children, and all of them have lived in Birmingham their whole lives.” The woman in the pink dress I now know as Penelope explained as the images popped up on the screen. 

     “Odd method of death, but very effective. After a certain amount of time of being electrocuted, the heart and body just can’t take the shock anymore and shut down.” Spencer added, talking quickly. 

     “The restraints and clean method of killing suggest an organized killer. Any sign of sexual assault?” I asked Penelope. 

     “None.”

     “A note was left in the last victim’s mouth, however,” Hotchner added. “The note had read, ‘Quite a shock it must be to find out the Earth Mother isn’t so noble’. This taunt leads us to believe the killer isn’t going to stop until we catch him. Wheels up in 20.”

The jet was even nicer than I expected. And so were the people on the jet. 

   “So, we do we make of the message that was left? Is it truly simply a taunt, or does it mean something more?” Morgan asked. 

    “Well, the use of the phrase ‘Earth Mother’ suggests that the killer doesn’t believe the victims are as innocent as everyone claims that they are. The use of the word ‘shock’ means that the killer is most likely deriving pleasure and satisfaction from the electrocution.” Spencer explained, moving his hands animatedly. Same ramblings since college. 

    “Okay, so I know I’m knew here,” I started out. “But could this killer be a woman? The clean murders and organized targets suggest a more feminine killer. The note talking about the Earth Mother could be a jealous way of punishing these mothers for their supposed crimes. Also, there wasn’t any sexual assault.” 

    The team thought for a second. “That fits with the nature of the crimes. I agree with YLN,” Hotchner agreed. 

   “Not bad, newbie,” Morgan chuckled. “What are some other things about you?”

    Oh boy. I had to be careful about this question. Spencer looked down at his case file next to me, trying not to laugh. 

    “Well, I have three PhDs in psychology, sociology, and mathematics, and two BAs in philosophy and linguistics.” Just by looking at the faces of the people around you, they were beyond impressed. “I can speak Latin, French, Spanish, Russian, and obviously English. And I am very grateful to have gotten a job with the BAU.” 

   Everyone was speechless until Rossi piped, “Damn, kid. She could give you a run for your money.”

   Spencer smiled. “Oh, trust me, I know.” Oh god. 

   “What?” JJ questioned. “Do you guys know each other?” 

   Both Spencer and I turned red. “Um, well, we went to college together for a while. Just old friends.” And maybe a little bit more. Just a little bit. 

   “Landing in 10 minutes. And we are very grateful to have you here, Agent YLN,” Hotchner said.

   “Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”

   “Please, call me Hotch.” 

Since I was new to the team and “old friends” with Spencer, we wound up at the Birmingham police station together as a first assignment. 

   While working on the geographic profile and victimology, Spencer spoke up. “So, uh, it’s been a while.”

   I smiled shyly. “Yes it has. You are definitely different than I remember you being in college.” In college he was this scrawny, brainy, awkward sixteen year old, too afraid of girls to talk to the only other person his age on the MIT campus. Until I eventually made him talk because we were both lonely out of our minds. “But I still feel like I know you better than anyone.” 

   He sat casually on the large table we were working at. “That’s probably true, I haven’t really had any relationships since... you.” 

   “Same here, my friend.” 

   Spencer nervously cleared his throat. “I know I haven’t seen you in almost ten years, and I don’t even know how long this case is going to take, but when we get back... do you wanna go out to dinner with me? You know... to catch up?” 

   He may be different but he still has the same awkward charm as in college. I chuckled. “I would love that.” 

   We both smile. “Great... well, it’s a date.” 

Our unsub turns out to be Michelle Collins, a 39 year old woman who had her baby taken away after being declared an unfit mother. 

    “Great, we know who, but we don’t know the where.” Morgan groaned. “Garcia, what’s her work and home addresses?” 

    “Both of which sent to your phones, my loves!” Penelope called over speakerphone. “Be safe!”

     She wasn’t at either address. 

     “If she’s not at either address, then she’s probably with her next victim,” Hotch pointed. “Call Garcia, see if she can find anything.” 

     “Hello, new and the beautiful! What can I do for you?” She called over speakerphone. 

      “Garcia, have there been any reports of a mother being abducted? Most likely in the last hour or so?”

      I heard her typing frantically over the phone. “Yes, Fiona Hillman was abducted twenty minutes ago from a supermarket two blocks from Michelle’s work.”

     Hotch looked at you, Spencer and Prentiss. “We’re closer to where Fiona was abducted. Search the surrounding area until we find Michelle’s car and go on foot from there.” 

      It took all of ten minutes to find her car. Fiona was already tied to the metal fence outside a warehouse, Michelle holding a small revolver to her head.

      “Michelle Collins! FBI!” Spencer yelled across the field to the ware house. 

      “Drop the gun and put your hands on your head!” I called out, making sure to aim my gun as close to her chest as I could get. 

      “Profile says that we can’t talk her down,” Spencer mumbled to me. 

     “No, no, no! You don’t understand! She doesn’t deserve to be a mother!” Michelle screamed frantically, pressing the gun further into Fiona’s temple. “I saw her abuse her poor child! She needs to die!”

     “Michelle, I know that they took your baby away, and I know that you desperately wanted to be the perfect mother, but this is not the way to do it!” I yelled back. 

     “What do you know?” She stepped back from Fiona, switching the aim of her gun to me. “You’re just a-“

    BANG! 

    Shot went right into her shoulder. Spencer fired before I got the chance, both of us running to the two women. Michelle was on the ground, crying hysterically. Fiona was quickly untied from the fence, almost collapsing into my arms while Spencer put pressure on Michelle’s wound. 

    He looked back at me as the medics started flooding the scene. “We make a pretty good team, YFN. I’m really glad you’re here.” 

    I smiled, and Hotch walked up with a pleased expression. “Exceptional work, Agents. Head back to the station and we can head back to DC in a few hours.”

   On the ride back to the station, we were both quiet. “Cases don’t always turn out so good.” Spencer finally said. 

   “Does it ever feel as if you’re stuck?” I asked quietly. “Constantly in this cycle of catching monsters.” 

    Spencer was quiet for a long time before he answered. “It feels like that all the time. But the lives we save makes everything worth it.” 

I sat on the right side of the jet, listening to classical music and staring out the window. I almost didn’t notice Prentiss and JJ sit next to and across from me. 

  “Hey guys, what’s up?” 

  JJ gave me a smile. “What’s up is that Spencer has never been this happy on a case before.” 

  “Is there something you wanna tell us about your “old friend” from college?” Prentiss looked at me expectantly. 

   I chuckled into the book I was reading. “Well- um, I was Spencer’s first real girlfriend. We dated for almost two years when we were at MIT together.”

   “Oh my god, I knew it!” JJ laughed into her hand. “Wait until we tell Garcia. She’s going to lose it.”

   “Does anyone know?” Prentiss whispered, glancing over the plane. Hotch was the only one up, immersed in paperwork. I shook my head, my face bright red. 

   JJ turned to me. “He’s never been this happy on a case before, so whatever effect you have in him is welcome. We’re glad you’re here, YFN.”

   I smiled brightly. “It’s good to be here.” 

Back at Quantico, Spencer ran up to me as I was walking into the elevator. “Hey, um, I know it’s a little late but... are we still on for dinner?” 

  This day just keeps getting better and better. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  The night ended with Spencer’s face covered in ice cream and a peck on his cheek. 

[litwitlady]

Never Have I Ever (5/?)

Read the Board Game Verse on AO3.

The next Friday night Michael shows up early and with a list of demands. ‘Put on some warm clothes and grab a couple of blankets you don’t mind getting dirty. We’re taking this show on the road.’ He heads into Alex’s kitchen to pilfer the fridge, and Alex doesn’t bother asking questions, he just does as told.

Outside at Michael’s truck, they toss the blankets and whatever Michael took from his kitchen into the bed. ‘Your firepit? Where are we going?’

‘The desert. Our old spot. Hop in.’ A little thrill shivers down Alex’s spine as he climbs into the Chevy. In all their years of each other, spending the night in the desert has only ever ended one way.

Their drive out is twenty minutes of quiet, radio softly playing between them. Michael’s window is down despite the chill, and Alex enjoys the way the wind dances through his hair, making a mess of his curls. Every couple of miles, Michael glances over at him with a promise-painted smile, the same way he used to when they were seventeen.

They turn off the highway, tires kicking up dust clouds behind them. Beyond the mountains the sun is setting, pink and purple and orange flames licking at the first stars daring to blink down at them. The desert around them looks the same as it ever does with pockets of snow still unmelted from the season’s first snowfall. Eventually, two familiar mesquite trees appear and it’s like coming home, both of them breathing a little easier.

Michael puts the truck in park. ‘This place never changes.’ He slides out of the Chevy and before Alex has even set foot on solid ground, he’s managed to float everything out of the bed and onto the desert floor. ‘You want to sit on the ground or would the tailgate be easier?’

He looks nervous and that makes Alex nervous. ‘On the ground, near the fire. Just need a hand getting down there.’ He reaches out to Michael, asking for help but also offering comfort for whatever anxiety is biting at both their heels. Michael helps him onto the blanket and plops down beside him, the fire close enough to keep the encroaching sting of autumn winds at bay.

Scattered around them is an array of food. Everything from paninis oozing melted cheese to a handmade Greek salad from a recipe Michael had found at Isobel’s house while rummaging through her cookbooks. ‘I might have gone a bit overboard, but in my defense, I skipped lunch and was starving.’

Alex is already halfway through one of the paninis, eyes closed in satisfaction. ‘This is delicious.’ Michael makes a mental note to keep the panini maker he’d borrowed from Max. It’s not like Max ever uses it anyway.

Once they’ve eaten their way around the blanket, Michael gets back up and removes a large black case from his truck. ‘There’s a reason I wanted to come out here tonight.’ He winks down at Alex. ‘And no, it’s not the reason you’ve been thinking since I first mentioned the desert.’ Alex looks away quickly, hiding the disappointment that suddenly floods his face.

Michael doesn’t notice, too busy pulling a large telescope from the velvet lining inside the opened case. ‘Mars is brighter than it’s been in years this month. I’ve been itching to get out here and have a look. Isobel gifted me the telescope on our shared birthday in June. I was going to pawn it.’ He shrugs and peeks his eye through the eyepiece, adjusting the fingerscope per the instructions he’s found on his phone.

Alex looks up at the night sky and finds Mars with his naked eye. It is extraordinarily bright, a glowing pink orb rising through the inky black expanse of space. And when Michael finally captures it in the lens of the telescope, he gasps and grabs at Alex’s arm. ‘You can see so much detail. All the pockmarks and craters. And the dust looks almost orange. It’s amazing. Look.’

He drags the telescope closer to Alex so he doesn’t have to move much, checking through the eyepiece one last time to focus directly on the red star. Leaning back on his heels, Michael motions at Alex to take his place and turns his own eyes upward. They are both looking at the same star but he also knows they are seeing something entirely different. He huffs out a sharp laugh which draws Alex’s eye away from the telescope. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing. Just metaphors and nonsense. The ways that perspectives get so warped and are so hard to understand when everyone doesn’t have the same telescope.’ Alex gives him a funny look and Michael laughs outright. ‘I’ve been hanging around Max too much.’

Alex shakes his head gently. ‘No. I think I get what you’re saying. For a long time, we’ve wanted the same thing, but we’ve been coming at it from our own messy angles. I’ve often thought we were similar to the codes I break. We’re on the same page, but written in a language the other needs help translating.’ Michael nods at him, smiling sweet.

They spend an hour searching through the various stars and distant galaxies before a growing ache in Alex’s chest pushes him to ask a question he’s been holding inside since they decided to work on their friendship weeks ago. ‘One day you’ll be able to find your star. The one you’ve been searching for since you crawled from that pod. And you’ll figure out how to finish building your ship.’ He pauses to collect himself, already feeling the emotion in his chest threatening to overwhelm him. ‘One day, you’ll be able to go home.’ His eyes start to burn with unshed tears, but he keeps going, meeting Michael’s gaze with determination and readying the fortress around his heart he was so sure he wouldn’t need anymore. ‘Is that still what you want?’

Michael reaches up and swipes at the first tear that falls from the corner of Alex’s eye. ‘I found my star a long time ago. And I’m not going anywhere without you.’

Alex drops his eyes to his hands. ‘I have no right to ask that of you. I know that. Not after all the leaving I did.’ He tugs nervously at the hem of his shirt, hands starting to shake with the cold. ‘But I’m never going anywhere without you ever again. I promise.’

‘I know.’ Michael grabs an extra blanket and wraps it tight around Alex. ‘So what’s tonight’s game? Didn’t see you toss anything into the bed when we were leaving.’

They both lean back against the Chevy’s tire. Alex stretches the blanket around Michael’s shoulders so that they are sharing more than just the woven wool’s warmth. ‘How about the classic drinking game, Never Have I Ever? Sans alcohol but with a new twist.’ He grins, lips sharpening at the edges and eyes darkening with dare. ‘Instead of taking a drink, you have to kiss the other person.’

Michael snorts. ‘So we’re just soundly saying goodbye to the friends experiment then?’

‘No. Platonic kisses only. No kissing on the mouth and no use of tongue.’ Alex hears the bullshit in his words and knows Michael does too. His nerves return and he begins to second guess himself. ‘Or we can play like normal. There’s still plenty of wine left. Or not at all. I’m happy to just sit here with you too.’

‘That’s okay. I like the new rules. Not much of a wine guy anyway. Who goes first?’

‘Me.’ Alex sits up a little straighter and spends a fair amount of time considering his first move. ‘Never have I ever used my telekinesis to do literally anything.’ He follows the statement with a cheeky grin, clearly quite proud of himself.

‘Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be? That’s how we’re going to play?’ Alex tries to suppress the manic giggle that bubbles up in his throat but loses the fight pretty quickly. Michael shakes his head. ‘Have a placement preference?’

‘Nope. I’m looking forward to wherever you choose.’ He blushes and struggles to meet Michael’s eye, muscles tensing in anticipation once he feels Michael shift against him.

A breeze nestles between them, but neither of them notices. The cool air doing absolutely nothing to assuage the heat pulsing between them. Michael presses his lips to Alex’s temple, less a kiss than a remembrance of every kiss that has come before. Alex closes his eyes and lets this new memory burn a spot next to all the others.

It’s strange. Michael has kissed him goodbye dozens of times over the past few weeks. None of them half as affecting as this barely glancing touch.

Abruptly, Michael pulls away. ‘Never have I ever gone to war.’

Alex reopens his eyes at the sound of Michael’s voice. ‘If we keep this up, we’re going to dig ourselves into a hole, Guerin. One we can’t get out of.’ He brings his fingers up to the sleeve of Michael’s shirt. ‘You told me to dress warm when all you’re wearing is this thin t-shirt.’ Michael watches as Alex slowly guides the sleeve up over the top of his arm. Alex bows his head far enough to leave a trail of rough, chapped kisses where the bony end of his collarbone meets his shoulder.

Michael’s breath hitches the instant Alex doesn’t stop with one single kiss. The dry scrape of his lips sending goosebumps down to his toes, his heartbeat a staccato rhythm echoing throughout his entire body. ‘That doesn’t feel at all platonic.’ His voice is low and strained, edged with the desire to flatten Alex hard against the wool blanket beneath them.

Alex smiles and smacks his shoulder with one last loud kiss. ‘I guess that depends on your perspective. Never have I ever stepped foot on another planet.’

‘How about I share a little bit of my perspective with you?’ He scoots impossibly nearer to Alex, hand cupping his cheek and tilting their mouths dangerously closer. Their breaths mingle together although Alex is almost certain he’s not breathing at all anymore. Michael’s lips hover over Alex’s, the anticipation building to a crescendo they’ve both been waiting for since five Friday nights ago at the Wild Pony. And it doesn’t matter how many times they’ve kissed before. Because there’s never, not once been this much hope waiting for them on the other side.

When Michael’s lips finally land on Alex’s skin, they narrowly miss his mouth. Instead they fall at the corner of his lips, a sliver away from touching home. Alex exhales, half-groaning with the comedown. He’d been sure, so sure this was their moment. Swallowing down what he really wants to say, Alex turns to Michael just as he pulls away. ‘Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.’

‘I think this was the best idea.’ He tilts his head and smiles at Alex so beyond innocent that Alex yelps when Michael pushes his shoulders roughly onto the blanket and slides effortlessly between Alex’s welcoming thighs. Alex barely has time to take another breath before Michael’s mouth steals it away, sucking at his bottom lip so desperately Alex has to lift his head to chase after Michael’s urgency.

The kiss is needy, both of them grasping at each other like they’re dangling off a cliff holding on with nothing more than their fingertips. Michael’s hands tug at Alex’s hair, jagged, work-worn nails digging into the softness of his scalp without apology. And Alex fills the gaps between Michael’s ribs with his fingers, feeling Michael’s lungs expand with each new, shuddering breath. Eventually twisting Michael’s t-shirt so tight in his fists it rips at the seams.

One kiss becomes two becomes twenty until neither knows whose tongue is whose anymore. Michael’s shirt is long gone and Alex’s pants are shoved halfway down his thighs before either of them has the sense to stop. ‘Your skin is like ice, Alex. It’s too cold out here for this, even with the fire.’ His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving. Leaning back on his knees, he helps Alex back into his jeans, despite his ardent protests that he’s not too cold, and grabs the remaining blanket to wrap around them. Even with two thick, wool blankets, the night air is still harsh enough to make both of them shiver. ‘Maybe we should go back to your place.’

‘No. Please not yet.’ Alex shifts closer to Michael, joining their bodies wherever he can reach. Laying his head on Michael’s chest, he hums in satisfaction at the steady beat of his heart. ‘You’ll keep me warm. Tell me about the stars like you used to.’ Alex points to a random patch of desert sky. ‘Isn’t that Polaris?’

Michael snorts into Alex’s hair. ‘You’ve always been so bad at this. You can’t really see the North Star from here. It’s not bright enough.’ He drags Alex’s still-raised finger to another part of the sky. ‘That’s Gemini. The twins. I’ve always thought of me and Max as Castor and Pollux. But the version where only one of them, Pollux probably, is immortal.’

‘Max is Pollux, I’m guessing?’

Michael nods, chin tapping against the top of his head. ‘Yes.’

The stars glow brighter as Michael spends the next hour recounting so many of their mysteries, fingertips dancing up and down Alex’s arm like he’s tattooing the stories into his skin. Alex pretends like he’s never heard them before when in reality he’s had them all memorized for over a decade. The stars and Michael’s stories are what had kept his first tour overseas from chewing him up and spitting him out.

Tilting his chin, Alex kisses into Michael’s neck, leaving a sloppy trail in his wake as he nibbles up to his ear. ‘Take me home.’

The warmth of Alex’s house beckons as they pile everything back into the truck. With no traffic, they pull into the driveway in record time, not bothering to unpack the Chevy before heading inside and straight to Alex’s bedroom. They collapse onto the bed and undress each other slowly, allowing the furnace’s heat to melt them into nothing but nerve-endings and sensation, their sweat-slick skin sliding smoothly together.

Once they’re sated and sleepy, Michael throws a leg over Alex’s thighs and wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him as close as possible. ‘I guess we’re dating now.’

[the-wintershade]

in another life (I surely was there)

pairing: loki x reader summary: he wants to create a new world and he needs you -- loves you, but love is corrupt and he fails to realize the corrosiveness of his affections. wc: 3.1k+ genre: slightly angsty, dark, unhealthy desires, villian!loki

The first thing he learns is there is always darkness in the dawn. 

Thrown onto the ground after portaling to Joutenheim, he cowers in the face of danger and death but swallows the unnecessary emotions with a pearly grin. There’s nothing that grin can’t repair, can’t magically fix. 

They speak, the giant’s red stare burning holes in Loki’s perfectly concocted excuse. He bites back his unrestrainable irritation and partial embarrassment and continues with the facade hoping that they’ll grant his true desire. 

….

He watches it in your face. 

Your eyes zone onto his and he feels the anger, hurt, disappointment vibrating in the air around you — even if you are several feet in front of him. Your chest heaves, blood stains your brow crimson, and your eyes curl with darkness, conjuring every hateful emotion available to you. 

But you smile at him, lips painted red. And it’s the smile that frightens him the most. 

It’s not a smile of joy like he’s used to, but a smile with the promise of retribution, with the inkling of death and the promise of a deep, chilling anguish. 

He knows he shouldn’t have left. And you turn away from him, throwing yourself back into the slaughter, defending the innocent while he watches, rooted in place, afraid — not by you but for you. 

…

You ignore him. 

Even when beaten to a pulp and unable to lift a leg muscle, you refuse his help. It is the captain who carries you to the safety of the jet as you cling to consciousness. 

He feels how desperately you sway between life and death and hovers around, wanting to fight the man of black with a sharpened scythe. He can’t take you away, you still have sinners to punish, breakers of justice and righteousness to cleanse. 

Your work here can’t be done. It’s barely begun. 

He watched you go into the fray, punching wildly, impacts of limbs constantly striking you, repeatedly, without stopping. He would have stepped in if you hadn’t been so, so—

Your eyes peel themselves open and a moan escapes your mouth and it’s like he’s breathing again for the first time. They don’t stay open long enough; he needs to feel that wrath inducing stare pin down. But he can relax. You’ll pull through, he’s sure of that. 

….

He finds out quickly that everything won’t go back to normal with flowers...or chocolate...or a gem refined by the dwarfs. 

Nothing brings you back to him and he eats every present he brings you with no eye contact, no acknowledgement, and no indication that you’re aware he’s here. 

He feels hollow, invisible, a ghost to forever haunt an unbeliever. 

Bandages nearly obscure your face and now he feels horrible for leaving you and the others to fight the demon spawns of some alien race. He may have made a terrible mistake there but he couldn’t comprehend how you could ignore him so well. 

He couldn’t understand how you frosted over in one day and now you were an impenetrable block of ice that no amount of warmth and care and heat he produced, you wouldn’t crack. 

He was supposed to be the heartless one, not you. This was wrong.

…

“Why are you avoiding me? Why are you trying so hard to be as far away as possible?” He breaks the tension in the air, splitting the unspoken rule of silence established when it was just the two of you in a room. 

It wasn’t like him to talk about motivations or ideas behind doing things. It wasn’t like him to bring up conflict. He was doing a lot of things he wasn’t used to doing now. 

You glared. There was nothing in your eyes that gave the inkling of a promised answer. 

He took two steps forward and you crossed to the other side of the room. 

He felt it then. The split, the divide, the chasm that had opened between the two of you. 

You wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing at all. And he was still holding onto who you used to be. Both stuck in limbo. Both trapped in each other. 

Instead of saying anything, you exited the room and Loki just stopped and stared. Maybe it’s time to give up. Maybe it’s time to let go. 

…

You fall through the air. 

And you smile. 

That’s the first thing he finds strange. The second is your obvious lack of concern for your own safety. Because you used to warn him all the time to protect himself and be careful, always with a hidden undercurrent in your words. 

Loki wasn’t good at emotional attachment so he brushed away your warm eyes, easy to fall into, and did whatever. 

Now he feels what you must have felt when he was being reckless. Uncertainty. Fear. 

The wind whips your hair and Loki only hesitates a second in horror before catching you and teleporting you to solid ground with him. 

He holds you firmly, but you still refuse to pay him any mind. “Don’t—“ he breathes raggedly, as if he’d run a mile in the past few seconds. “Don’t ever do that again.”

He watches you fragment. The walls you’ve carefully built fall for a moment and only a moment before those soft, open eyes shift into a predatory, hateful gaze. 

You shake out of his arms and weave out of his reach. “You should have let me fall.” You toss over the back of your shoulder and it’s the first time Loki can remember the echoing staccato of hurt. 

…

He doesn’t leave. Not this time. Not even when the whole team is beaten senseless. 

Not even when his skin is turning all shades of black and blue and his legs crumple under the strain. Not even when this battle is going so far left that he’s certain that you’ll all be overrun.

He bites back the bile worming its way through his throat and cuts down another monster, a twisted creation he likely had some involvement in sending there. His fingers ache from gripping harder than necessary on the handle of his knife. He lets them flex, breathing against the tight cage he forced them into.

He’d missed it. It was too late for any reaction as it sunk into his abdomen. 

He couldn’t scream. Oh no. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of a whimper or a plea for forgiveness. He was already light years past that now. 

Besides the quick response of his limbs that move on their own to drive his weapon down to the hilt into their throat, the pain is still there. Blooming. Spreading faster than he anticipated. 

The monster had gotten him good. Better than he could have done while he was paying attention to you.

You were like Tyr himself, a devastating figure of little remorse and brute strength. He knew what that power could do to a person. Its fuel lies in the deep recesses of the mind, midnight ebony and bloodstained red colliding to produce a substance of deep scorching pain. Yours spilled right out of you; it was like he could see it. Like it had a tangible shape, a shadow that clung to you, echoing your movements like a spectral warrior.

And it was impressive and so out of character for you. 

Loki was awed by you once again and that awe led to his own demise. Figures.

He’s not bitter about it all, hitting the ground, watching vermillion soak his clothes and bury into the earth. He’s not devastated that his one true wish might not be fulfilled. 

He’s thankful. For the first time in his life, he’s grateful to watch you become the force he knew you always could be. 

He’s just sorry that he might have been the catalyst for such change.

…

“Loki.” Your face contorts in determination and a firm pleading. “Loki, can you hear me?” He would have thought this was the afterlife, the final test, the final trial to make everything right before he would inevitably be sent to hell. Then he saw the red smeared against the corner of your mouth and knew, oh, I’m still breathing.

He sees no traces of real concern on your face and his own falls at the absence. He just wishes he could make it all right. That he could change that stupid wish he’d made so many weeks ago.

But he was bound. 

There was nothing he could do to get out of it all. He’d be stuck until the plan was fulfilled. 

“Don’t die, okay? Just-” He watches your face contort in a mixture of pain and anxiety. For the first time in a while, he believes that he may be able to peel the darkness back, beat his doubts and the voices in his head warning him that all this will be for nought.

But they always return, always creep along in the back of his mind, circling like one of Odin’s devout warriors, ravens ready to devour a meal.

He’ll lose you, one way or another. 

And that terrifies him more than the blue skin and red eyes he knows he has. It scares him more than his brotherhood with the giants of old and their unnatural complexion — his unnatural appearance.

He’s doing this all for a reason, a purpose that he can see, but others can’t. He doesn’t fool himself that you’ll be able to see it too.

“Hold on.” Your words warm him. He doesn’t feel the sting of the cold when you’re near. He can trick himself and believe that he’s human, not the being of frost that hides beneath the pallor of his glamour.

And when your hand slips into his own, bolstering ice with flame, he breaks in two. He’ll lose you. He knows you’ll leave him too.

…

He can feel you there, right next to him in recovery. He’s well aware of the scorn that the members of earth’s defenders have given you. 

He almost wishes that you would run away from him, cast him off like everyone else does. But a bigger part is thankful that you stayed, even if it’s selfish, even if the end will be bitter.

Your hand is right there next to him. It lies limp on the bed, your head lolled to the side in your slumber. His hand crosses the space separating you from physical contact and grasps your hand in his.

You stir, eyes blurry and dark, waiting, coiled and ready to spring. Gently, he brings your hand to his lips. He feels the darkness stir underneath and in a few days time, everything will fall into place.

He’s just sorry it had to be this way.

“I love you.” He’s not lying when he says it. He’s not saying it because it will win you over, not because he feels obligated to. He’s saying it because it’s the truth. 

There’s no grin to hide behind, no smile to cover up a trick. Just him and you and the truth.

Your eyes widen but the guard is still there, the walls are still up. He notices the black splotches in your irises recede for just a moment and then the moment’s gone.

The Avengers think it’s a side effect of a monster bite and the black veins, spiderweb bruising, and your general temperament will return to normal. But it won’t. You’ll be consumed and if you don’t fight your way out, you could die.

But he doesn’t see that in your future.

You’re too strong.

Your eyes watch his, waiting for the trick, for the moment the cat is out of the bag. When you don’t see one, your hold on him tightens. The words never come out of your mouth and he’s not sure that you can fully reciprocate his words, but you feel something and it’s strong enough to keep you within reach.

He’s thankful that you’ll share this moment together, that maybe this memory won’t be soiled when the change happens.

…

You’re gone.

The change came a few days later and Hel was right there, as was originally discussed, ready to take you for when the time came, when the final days of asgard were in sight.

He flashed that charming smile at his sister and tired to bargain with her. He knew that not seeing you was apart of the plan, that for this to work in accordance with the frost giants he would have to avoid seeing you.

But that wasn’t enough for him. He was greedy, what could he say?

It’s why he was doing this all in the first place.

For the greed of power, of recognition, of the world paying attention to the insignificant brother next to the heir to the throne. It was for the world to forever know his name. He was greedy and selfish; he wouldn’t deny that.

But he was even more greedy when it comes to you. He didn’t want to let you go. He would fight, tooth and nail, to hold onto you.

But Hel, holding your almost completely corrupted figure from falling to the ground, refused. She said no.

You were her warrior now and you’d be a powerful force at that.

And then she sank into the underground, dragging you, her slave, down with her.

The hole in his chest grew that much larger and without trying to, he fell to the grass where you just stood, gripping it firmly in his fingers, feeling the gap between you grow that much larger.

…

It’s been years now. Odin is dead. Ragnorak has begun.

His face is bloody and he no longer hides who he is, no longer denies his true self from the world. 

His skin is a deep cobalt and his eyes burn like rubies set ablaze. He runs with his brothers, no longer ashamed, no longer afraid of the wrath of the Asir. He’s free to burn down his false home as he chooses and Hel has brought her warriors.

The thought of you crossed his mind a few times, wondering where your face would be in the crowd, what powers you would have, how dark and twisted you might have become.

He still feels horrible, but it was for a purpose.

Somehow he hopes he’ll live long enough to see you again, when this is all over, when he’s able to explain everything.

…

“Loki?” He cradled your broken body against him, smoothing the hair and grime from your face. The black lines receded from your face and you were no longer a demon. Loki now looked like the frost giant he was. It was truth to truth, no cover ups or falsities. “Why did you abandon me?”

Abandon?

No, he didn’t abandon you. He helped you work towards a higher purpose. He endowed you with something greater.

“No, no. I didn’t abandon you, (name). I helped you. I made you something greater.” He watched your eyes unfocus and waited before you were able to speak again.

“You lied and corrupted and hurt me. You made me a monster who does horrible things. You dragged me into a war that had nothing to do with me.” You lolled your head over in his direction, the ebony lines weaving in and out of your pupils. “You killed me. My death is your fault.”

He almost dropped you. This was nonsense, slander. You couldn’t be serious. You had to see it his way now. This was necessary. The world was evil and abandones others, but he was there to make it right again.

The world needed a new world order. He was going to give it to them.

“No, (name).” He pulled you closer and gazed deeply into your eyes. “I love you. I want greatness for you. I need you here with me.”

You laughed, laughed harder than you should be able to while on the brink of death. Your hand came up to cup his cheek. “You were always the gullible brother.”

You transformed in front of his eyes and in your stead, Hel stared right back at him. “Like my little performance? I thought that your broken human would be a great way to fool you.”

She streaked against the ash on the ground and Loki stood up, watching her with malice. As he made a dash in her direction, he ran into a bubble, a forcefield of power locking him in. A cage. Another cursed cage.

“You didn’t really think that you’d come on top of this battle.” She smirked and then scoffed at the shock on his face. “You’re too weak brother. You’re too naive. You think you know everything when the person you should have been asking about death was me.” His eyes burned and stinged. “If you want to wipe the slate clean and rule this new world, at least pair with the right person to accomplish your goals. The frost giants never needed you; they needed me. I am going to rule this new world while you sit here in this prison for the rest of eternity.”

He slummed, defeated, tears of shame ready to coat his face. “Oh, and while we were on the subject of your precious little human, you should know that she was wonderful. So much potential, so much power and strength. It’s really a shame that she fell. I was fond of her.”

She smirked when he crumbled. “Tootles, darling.”

Waving, she walked away into the darkness, into death, what she lived and breathed, while Loki sat, in the remnants of Asgard, wondering how he could have thought that this was going to end up any differently.

And as he turned, he found you, sprawled on the ground, a hole in your chest, eyes staring right at him asking, how could you, how could you, how could you? 

I love you, I love you, I love you.

…

100 years have passed and he still sits in this forgotten cage in a forgot era. He’s let out from time to time, completing one job or another, but he’s eventually locked up again, doomed to live a lonely existence.

He still sees that face. He still sees your eyes that used to shine.

Loki knew you were aware that he was up to something, that he’d betrayed you somehow, that your story and his were intertwined forever. 

And then he sees the darkness take shape, how you’re taking risks you didn’t used to, how your nature changed.

He realized that’s love. That’s what it does to people. Love won’t save, love will corrupt. The name of love means nothing, trust means nothing, and he was foolish to think that you would understand.

But he would find another.

Maybe someone a little stronger, a little purer, and a little more in love with him. Maybe he’d find someone who understood and in the next 500 years, he’d be able to win this time.

Maybe the 6th attempt would be the charm.

a/n: hi, it’s been a while. I hope you’re taking care of yourself and taking the time you need.

I love you. It’s good to be back. 

~Ruby

[thevoidscreams]

Movie night

Kung Lao x reader Rating: M Summary:  Your bi monthly movie night with your favorite monk turns spicy, a lot of feelings get shaken loose. Word count:  2497 This has been in my wips FOREVER! I wanted to finally get it done and post it somewhere.

_________________________________ The soft light from the tv dimly lit the room, not the best for your eyes in this otherwise completely dark space, but like hell was that gonna stop you from enjoying yourself. You hadn't seen this movie yet and that excites you. From what you could tell the fighting was well choreographed and the characters weren't too cookie cutter. 

Another clump of bland white rice found its way into your mouth as yet again a fight scene graced your screen. The sounds of the combat are greatly exaggerated but not enough to not be enjoyable.

"His stance is all off, his legs need to be bent more and his body needs to be lower."

That made you chuckle. Kung lao had a habit of making you laugh and smile, which is precisely why you invited him over twice a month for terrible non-authentic Chinese food and kungfu movies. Really though any movie containing asian martial arts was fair game. He had a surprisingly extensive catalog of knowledge about other forms of martial arts.

 It was partially for this fact that his knowledgeable criticisms had become very endearing to you and surprisingly interesting.

"Ever the critic, ey Kung lao? I'd Like to see you do a triple backflip off a roof and land in a perfect stance on the ground below." The monk tipped his head back with a smirk, his titular hat missing from his person. "Oh I know I could, just you wait, I'll show you that I could do it better." That too was becoming a common phrase when you watched these movies. ‘ “I could do it better.” Yeah I bet you could.’ You’d think to yourself as you smiled at him.

With a carefree shrug you relent, continuing on your bland white grains.

The movie pressed on and the fight ended, the hero was wounded but alive and the rather pretty love interest was tending his injuries.

"I wish I had a beautiful woman to tend to me after my fights." Lao sighed wistfully, one hand draped over his eyes in pretend sadness.

"Hey now wait just a minute." The sound of your voice cut through the quiet like a hot knife. "If I recall correctly, I gave you a band aid not even a week ago." The shocked and offended act you put on would have made Johnny Cage proud.

"Oh yes of course. My mistake. How could I possibly forget your heroic act in saving my life from that paper cut. My apologies." Kung lao acted in return, bowing to you in mock submission.

"You should be sorry, you could have lost a finger to that dreadful and most grievous of injuries." You closed the distance to playfully push his shoulder before cuddling into his side.

He huffed in amusement as he lazily draped an arm over you. It felt so natural to be touched by him after all the years you'd known him. Lao didn't hesitate to give you hugs and let you cuddle up to him, he seemed almost starved for these small acts of affection. Well you wouldn’t deny him at all, his happy little sighs always made you smile.

As time passed on screen the two characters grew closer and the tension between them finally snapped. The way the protagonist's mouth moved over her neck making her sigh in satisfaction, the sounds in turn made you feel uncomfortably warm. Lao shifted next to you. The fingers that had been rubbing idle circles on your hip had gone completely still, his whole form now stiff.

Progressing forward the two draped themselves over a small bed. You hadn't expected this,but here it was. A cursory glance determined that your friend's face was nearly beet red. Breaking the tension might help him relax, so saying the first thing that came to mind you inquired "So how about that lao?"

 He looked down at you confused and flustered. "About what?" 

"Think you could do that better?" Your question was capped off by a rather loud moan from the female lead. 

The slack jawed expression that he gave you lasted for only a few moments, but it was enough to make you nervous that you'd made him upset or ruined something. 

"I, uh… I might." This was new, there was rarely a time when Kung lao was so quiet or seemingly unsure of his own abilities.

Then again all his blood appeared to be taking refuge in other places aside his brain. The comfortable pair of sweatpants he was wearing made it abundantly clear how his body was feeling, probably a lot like yours was. This could be the perfect opportunity to really get your feelings out in the open and scratch an itch that had been bothering you since the day you met the cocky Shaolin.

"Oh? Well why don't you show me then?"

A small gamble this was not, given Kung lao's vows, he might just turn you away. Although he wouldn't be the first shaolin in history to have a lover, lord knows Liu Kang wasn't just friends with Kitana. Still the terrifying thought of never seeing him again was almost enough to make you put on the break and pass this off as a joke.

"Well if you insist, but I must forewarn you that I don't intend to go easy on you." His response made your insides feel as if you'd suddenly come down with a case of butterflies. "Perfect, I was hoping for exactly that." 

Sitting up fully you brought your leg over his waist and sat your ass squarely over his apparent arousal.

Lao seemed just as at a loss for words as you did, merely enjoying the feeling of your plush rump pressed against him through the thin cotton fabric of your pajama shorts.

Suffice it to say the movie was all but forgotten about as Kung lao sat up, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his lips excitedly to yours. They were warm and so very nice against your own. It felt good and it felt right to kiss one of the people you'd called your best friend for years.

The way your bodies moved was a bit clumsy but your hips had a pretty decent rhythm now. Lao swallowed your moans with his kisses and vice versa. Slowly his hands left your hips, working up and down your sides growing more confident with every motion.

For an indeterminate amount of time this make out session kept you both busy only allowing you to break for air when you felt like your lungs were going to explode.

At last the kiss was broken and you could only think of one thing as you wiggle your hips against Lao's, your panties were completely  soaked with your own slick and sweat.

"Lao. Lao I need you, I can't wait anymore. I've needed you for so long, please." It sounded so desperate, the way you whine for him to take you. But the fucks you gave at that moment were only for Kung lao.

 "By the elder gods I've wanted to hear you say that since I met you."

 His fingers were needy and rough as he slipped them into the hem of your shorts pulling the fabric down. You stopped him and stood up to fully divest yourself of clothing. Lao watched mesmerized by the display. 

"You know the activity I had in mind works best if we're both naked." It was such a gentle sort of teasing but the way the monk sprung into action you might as well have told him he was on fire. He abandoned his garments quickly, having been in far fewer clothes than he usually wore. 

Now you were both bare and exposed to each other and your view was simply spectacular, Lao looked like he'd been sculpted by Pygmalion himself and brought to life by some ancient deity just for you.  He was simply divine to look at and the idea of getting your hands on him made the prospect of what you were about to do even more exhilarating. 

With all the grace you could manage you closed the distance between you and coiled your arms around him, pressing your chest to his and indulging in his warmth.

"I can't believe it." Lao breathed, sounding happy and in complete disbelief. "You're even more beautiful than I thought." The compliment drew a happy little breath from you. "Thank you, you're even better. I mean I've seen you shirtless before but now I actually get to touch you too. I don't know if I'll be able to control myself."

Lao chortled at your confession.

"Then by all means, don't."

With that you both stepped back and fell onto the couch, your lips locked and your bodies pressed snugly against each other's.

Carefully you reached between his body and yours to find his cock and stroke it. Lao hissed in satisfaction as did you upon finding him fully erect and ready. Normally quite a bit of foreplay was a must but tonight was not a night for hella pre gaming your sex. After all you were already dripping like a broken faucet. You slid two fingers into your slit and worked your fingers in time with the hand stroking his cock. Lao busied himself with palming your breasts and kissing you. It wasn’t enough though, You wanted to feel him inside of you and pulled your hand away from your own aching cunt to brace yourself against the back of the couch. 

It  took almost no effort to slip him inside of you and when you did your body shook at the sensation.

 It was like slipping the last piece of the puzzle into place and stepping back to look at the whole picture. All the tiny details made absolute sense now, all the squashed feelings and signs you glossed over because you were certain it was all in your head and those feelings were surely unrequited. It was so clear now that this was what was supposed to be and the overwhelming sense of rightness brought physical tears to your eyes. 

Of course Lao nearly pulled out thinking he'd hurt you somehow but your vice like legs kept him firmly in place. 

"Are you alright? Does it hurt?"

In truth it burned slightly to be so stretched out again but it was far from painful enough to stop.

"No no no. Please it's just so good." When you finally realized you had closed your eyes at some point you opened them slowly to look into your lover's eyes. Kung lao was nearly startled by the joy he found there, it was the very same joy he felt deep within himself. This was right. He'd live the rest of his days knowing this and he'd die knowing this. 

After a few minutes of sweet whispers and soft touches you gave the all clear and the real fun began. 

What Lao lacked in experience he made up for in work ethic, finding a pace that made you both cry out in pure bliss calling for one another, you found yourself pleading for more. Not that you knew what more was, you just knew you wanted it.

Years of training gave him a leg up on controlling his body's movements. His thrusts, though shakey at first, became firm and rhythmic. Still it took adjustment to find a position that worked just right for you both. It was almost like a game or challenge that you were both determined to do well at for the sake of the other.

Lao seemed to have a knack for finding every little spot inside of you that drove you wild. 

He was quite vocal in his satisfaction, growling and moaning praises to you in a mix of English and Chinese. His hands wandered over your body seemingly of their own accord. Starting at your hips then over your waist, they played with your breasts tenderly until finally they curled back around your waist to hold you close to him.

Sex had never been like this before, you struggled to get off with other partners, often having to either pleasure yourself mid act or finishing yourself off after. You couldn't recall a time when just penetration was enough to make your back arch, your eyes fill with stars and your voice cry out in pure exhilaration and pleasure.

Hell, maybe Lao had more than just hat magic, maybe he had sex magic as well.

Whatever it was it was bringing you quickly to your end. The first wave of your orgasm was otherworldly, drawing sounds from your lungs that you didn't recognize. Mixing with breathless pleas that began but never went anywhere.

The monk held you close to him as his pace faltered and the tightness of your sex drew him over the edge just after you. It was truly a new sensation to him, nothing else before this could compare and he could finally see the appeal in it as he spilled his seed into you.

The afterglow could have lit up a stadium. 

Lao pet the mused strands of your hair back into place as he peppered your face and neck with sweet kisses. 

Slowly you could hear your voice as the credits to the movie scrolled slowly to the sound of mandolins and flutes. You'd have to watch the rest of the movie next time.

"I don't know if it still matters at all… but you definitely did it better." You laughed, kissing Kung Lao deeply and running your fingers through his hair.

He smiled into the kiss and pulled away for breath still smiling. "Told you." He sure did, you’d give him credit for that.

The night was basically over, Raiden had promised to be by in the morning to collect him so you still had time. You dragged him back to your room and slipped into bed next to him. He held you close and rested his chin on the top of your head. Once it was quiet real worry began to settle in. You’d just had sex with Kung Lao, a shaolin monk, one who’d made a vow of chastity. Would he get in trouble for this. Be kicked out of his home. The thoughts and sudden guilt began to plague your mind. The sudden pressure of his arms increased around you while his voice broke the silence. “I know you're worrying, you don’t have to. I knew what I was doing and I know so long as it doesn’t interfere with my ability to protect earth realm then Raiden won’t say anything.” He kissed your cheek. It did calm you to hear this and with him here with you telling everything would be okay, the troubles faded from your mind. Soon sleep overcame you. In the morning things would be different. You could iron out the details later, just so long as he was part of them.

[a-duck-with-a-book]

REVIEW // Seven Blades in Black (The Grave of Empires #1) by Sam Sykes

★☆☆☆☆

Disclaimer: while I was reading this book, I found out that Sam Sykes has been accused by numerous women of sexual harassment. You can find more information about it below: - a post listing several accusations of misconduct - twitter post responding to the situation - one of the accusations against Sam Sykes - his quickly-deleted apology Suffice to say, I have no intention of continuing this series or reading any more of his books.

I have a lot to say about this novel, so I’ll begin by making a quick bullet point list outlining what I liked and disliked:

Liked:

Cavric <3

Lisette deserved better

Some interesting concepts in the world building

Disliked:

Sal as a narrator

Sal as an antihero

Sal as a person in general

Writing style

Constant interruptions

Meandering narrative

The “narrator knows something but the writer avoids revealing it until the end for the drama” trope

This is a Big Tough World and Nobody Gets To Be Happy

Lesbians written by a man who harasses women

Unnecessarily long

// image: official cover art Jeremy Wilson //

Let’s begin with the full review by starting with the (few) positives, shall we?

First and foremost, I genuinely enjoyed Cavric and Lisette. It is unfortunate that they had to deal with Sal for the entirety of the novel, but we’ll get to her later. If this book had been a buddy adventure with these two, in which Cavric slowly shows Lisette that she is in a toxic relationships and deserves to move on and find someone better for herself, I probably would have enjoyed it a lot more. Secondly (and finally), Sykes introduced some genuinely interesting world building. The background of the Empire and the Scar was fascinating to read, but unfortunately did not save the rest of this mess.

Alright now let’s rant.

I have 35 notes and 52 highlights from this book, so this might get block quote heavy. (Go check out my notes if you want to see me slowly lose my sanity)

Sal is awful. I know she’s meant to be awful, but she’s not flawed in the way that I think Sykes was trying to write her. I believe she was intended to be a scruffy, lovable antihero who fought her way through a dangerous landscape with her sharp blade and even sharper tongue. A girl who had wrongs committed against her in the past, who did terrible things but is now on the road to an epic redemption arc. She shoots bad guys, she says f*ck and a*s a lot, and she is morally complex. That’s the character that Sykes was trying to make. The one he created, however, is a genuinely terrible person who I had no desire to see come out on top. I have a myriad of issues with her, but let’s outline a couple below: (1) She is incredibly toxic for Lisette. Am I getting a bit too heated about a fictional relationship? Sure. Was I happy to read a toxic lesbian romance written by a man who sexually harasses women? Nope. It kind of grossed me out, actually. Anyway, let me give you a run down of their relationship. Sal arrives. Sal and Lisette sleep together. Sal asks Lisette to give her weapons and or fix things for her. Sal sneaks away, telling herself no good will come of this relationship and they will only cause each other pain. Sal needs something. Sal comes back. Repeat over and over. She constantly says, throughout the book, that it would be better if they just left each other, but then again Sal is the one who goes back to Lisette over and over, causing her renewed heartbreak. I don’t know if Sykes thought that simply making Sal aware of how terrible this behavior was was enough, but it just made me incredibly frustrated. At one point Sal says:

”Intellect like hers is a curse. The more you understand of the world, the less of it you trust.”

Yes, Sal, that’s what’s giving her trust issues. Her intelligence. Nice. By the end of the book, it seems that they are on the mend-I’m getting end-game vibes from these two. But honestly, I spent the entire time thinking that Lisette deserved so much better than Sal. Like literally a chicken would have provided healthier companionship. I’ll end with this quote, in which Lisette outlines perfectly why Sal does not deserve her:

“What am I doing wrong that you’d choose this over me?”

(2) Sal is annoying. Really, really annoying. I kid you not, half of this book is made up of Sal’s snarky comments. She is badass. She has a gun. She is an outlaw. And she will never, EVER shut up about it. Imagine a quirky line after an otherwise dark or action-packed sequence. Funny, right? Might break the tension, make the narrator more endearing, etc. Now imagine one such line after every. Single. Paragraph. Picture a violent battle scene where the protagonist is fighting for their lives against a ruthless opponent. Now insert a snarky comment after every other paragraph and watch the entire flow of the scene fall apart with constant interruptions. That’s what this book is-which brings me to my next point.

The writing isn’t great. There are constant interruptions, meandering narratives, and the trope that haunts me in nearly every dark fantasy novel I read-This is a Big Tough World and Nobody Gets To Be Happy-is shoved repeatedly in your face. Let’s start with the interruptions, returning to my previous point (ie. Sal never shuts up), by looking at this sequence:

I  followed the shrieking wind. I had come here prepared for something bad. But I wasn’t prepared for just how bad it was. I rounded the corner of the hall, came out atop a battlement. The wind struck me with a screaming gale, forcing me to shield my face and cling to the stone for purchase. My eyes squinted against the harshness of the light, the kind of offensive pale you only see in your nightmares. And through them, I could see the bowed shapes of towers sagging, the flayed flesh of banners whipping in a wind that wouldn’t cease, the shadows of figures frozen in a death that had brought no peace. And I knew where I was. There was nothing that had ever made Fort Dogsjaw special. It had never been crucial for defense, never a hub for trade, it hadn’t even been named for anything special—the commander just liked the sound of it. It lived its whole life a regular, boring Imperial fort on the edge of the Husks. It only got important at the time of its death. Over three hundred mages and a few thousand regulars had assembled here in one day—some to receive assignments, some to man the garrison, some to head back to Cathama on leave. They had been laughing, cursing, drinking when the news came that the new Emperor of Cathama was a nul, born with no magic. And then there had been a moment of silence.

I’ve bolded for emphasis, but do you see what I’m talking about? The paragraph-line-paragraph-line format is so annoying to read, I had to put the book down at certain points because of how frustrated I got. It interrupted the forward movement of the story, making the novel drag on and on.

You know what else makes this feel like the nightmare version of the Never-ending Story? The page count. I don’t mind long books-The Priory of the Orange Tree is one of my favorite reads so far this year, and it’s longer than this one-but they have to have a reason for being so hefty. As I mentioned earlier, a considerable chunk of Seven Blades of Black is Sal making her awful, awful, AWFUL asides. I literally cannot express how much I despise those comments. Okay, let’s move on before I get hung up on THOSE STUPID COM-*cough*

This novel is marred by unnecessary lines and a meandering plot that drag out the story. One instance is the amount of times that Sal is a second away from killing someone and, for some reason (usually not a good one), fails in her goal. She places a gun at someone’s head and goes through a whole monologue in her head until the person miraculously escapes. This type of subversion of expectations is fine every once in a while, but if you are going to build up to a crucial moment and then take away the satisfaction of the defeat of some villain (or mini-boss, as many of the antagonists in this book feel like), then you need to have a good reason for doing it upwards of twenty times in ONE BOOK. Secondly, if you spend almost the entire novel setting up more and more villains and stressing how hard they are to kill and how dangerous their powers are (and presenting them separately and isolated), then when you have them all in one place at the end, at which point the protagonists starts going through them like a plate of french fries at a seagull convention, then you’re kind of taking away the satisfaction of the death. Somehow, this book manages to do both. We are constantly teased with almost-kills, then at the end Sal just blows through everyone in five seconds, easy-peasy.

I’m almost done, I swear-just two more gripes.

So much of the tension of this book rests on the fact that Sal, our narrator and our main viewpoint into the story, knows something that we don’t. I’ll be upfront with you-I hate this trope. If our POV character, the one whose mind we are in constantly, is entirely aware of something that happened before the beginning of the novel, and the author keeps from revealing that something for the entirety of the story solely to add drama, then I will not be a happy reader. Where is the logic. We are in this person’s mind. Just show us already and add tension ELSEWHERE.

And FINALLY (as painful as it was for you to read this, it was worse for me to write it), another issue I have with a lot of dark fantasy (see my review of Nevernight) is that the author really, really wants us to know that this is an incredibly dangerous and dark world by filling it to the brim with edge lord narrators, Big Guns, and, usually, women being harrased-because why not force all your female readers to constantly have to read about women getting assaulted? Apart from Sal’s 300,000 comments explaining to us that she is an asshole, that the Scar is Dangerous, and that she has Killed A Lot of People, we as readers must sit through hundreds of lines of dialogue and exposition that beat us over the head with the fact that this is DARK fantasy. This isn’t your nice little fairy adventure-no sir. Here we have Swear Words and Violence and Men writing Queer Women. To emphasize just how blatant Sykes is with the dark part of dark fantasy, let me tell you about an exchange Sal has with three old ladies who run a criminal empire. In the 2-3 pages that these women appear in, we are told, in some form or other, that they are grandmas who kill people, a grand total of, I kid you not, ELEVEN TIMES. Here are some excerpts from that whole situation:

”“Now, now.” Yoc, old and white haired and sweet as a grandmother—if that grandmother also had people killed on the regular—smiled at me. “I’m sure she has a good reason for being here.” She raised the hand that had signed the contracts that had killed a thousand men and women and took up her whiskey glass. “After all, I’m sure she knows how much we don’t like having our game interrupted.”” *I counted this as one since it’s in the same exchange but technically he mentions it TWICE

”…one didn’t waste the Three’s time if one didn’t want to end up with their teeth pried out.”

”How often do you meet the three old ladies who have people killed for money?”

”I said we should kill her on principle.”

”“But you know how many orphans I’ve made, don’t you, dear?””

”“He’s not so unlike us, is he? A murderer, yes. A monster to some. But, at his heart, a businessman.”

”Theirs were the hands that signed a thousand death contracts a year.”

”When they could be bothered to look up from their game, they decided who lived and died with a stroke of their pen.”

”At a word, they could have me stripped, tied, tortured, and cut up…”

”the Three don’t lie. Their assassins do. Their thieves do. But they don’t.”

”I had already wasted their time and I knew the Three were being generous just letting me fuck off instead of having me killed for the effort.”

TL;DR - Sal is annoying, Sykes is a bad writer, and Someone should have stopped me from reading this book

[bngtanah]

The Difference Between Boys & Girls | o1

summary: Sam & Erin are university students who share a cheap one bedroom apartment above a shitty takeaway restaurant. Due to the limited space, they’ve grown accustomed to sharing just about everything, including the occasional kiss. Despite the amount of time they spend together, their complete comfort in sharing a bed, etc, the pair continues to hold on to the idea that they are completely “platonic.” None of their friends believe this excuse, but as ridiculous as it sounds the unconventional living situation truly does seem to work for them.

Well, it used to anyway..

pairing: Jung Hoseok (Samuel Park)  x Named OC characters: meet the cast.

word count: 10k+ genre: angst, smut, fluff

chapters: o1| o2| o3| o4| o5| o6| o7| o8| o9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14

warning: boyfriend!hoseok, jealous!hoseok, friends to lovers trope, college au, angst, sexual themes, slow burn, ambw

a/n: i am a fool. I accidentally deleted my blog so this is me re-uploading EVERYTHING.

"You headed out?"

Erin's head whipped around in her roommates direction as he appeared in the doorway of their shared bedroom. He was shirtless, for no proper reason, jogging pants barely clinging to his hip bones. Sammy and Erin, to a certain extent, had stopped being shy being half-naked or completely naked around each other after a successful year of living together, and keeping things from becoming noticeably awkward between them. It was almost a tradition for them to freely walk around their tiny apartment space in the dead of winter or in the sweltering heat of summer in next to nothing.  

She turned in her seat to fully face Sammy as he flashed her one of his infamous megawatt smiles. It always amazed Erin how he did that, going from smoldering and sexy one second to unexpectedly adorable the very next. It was a talent if she ever saw one. Erin inhaled and clenched the makeup brush in her hand with a tighter grip.

“Uh, yeah. Some girls from my study group invited me out for a drink” She nodded, tapping the fluffy end of her powder brush against her knee as she did her best to keep her eyes focused on his face and not his bare chest.

“I don’t really feel like going, but it beats lying around here doing nothing with you all night,” She shrugged.

Sammy rolled his eyes and drilled his toned shoulder into the doorjamb. "You make it sound like we don’t have any fun just lying around" He replied with a gentle pout.

"Oh, so much fun," Erin reassured with a hint of sarcasm. "But I’m sure they will kick me out of the group if I keep turning down their G.N.O’s."

"They sound like shitty friends; why would you want to go out with them anyway?"

"Well, there aren’t too many people falling over themselves to hang out with an English major, some of us have to take what we can get" Erin chuckled and turned back to face the mirror to finish constructing her 'I don’t really want to be here’ face. Minimal makeup and boring straight hair.

"I enjoy hanging out with you, am I not enough?" Samuel shot back.

Why were they debating this?

The question nearly fell from Erin’s lips because it almost sounded like her roommate was trying to convince her not to go. It was a stupid thought but one that had to be considered.

"Sammy," Erin sighed. "Are you bored or something? You're a big boy I'm sure you can find some way to entertain yourself when I'm not here," She craned her head to look at him again, "Maybe catch up on some of the 'anatomy' research I caught you doing in the living room last night?"

The slight frown that was forming on Sammy's lips disappeared into a broad grin in response to Erin's statement, making her stomach flutter just slightly. She always enjoyed seeing him laugh, especially when she was the cause.

With him partially distracted, Erin took the chance to subtly drink in every inch of his toned skin. He wasn't overtly muscular, more lean than anything but cut where he needed to be. Erin concluded that he had the years he spent dancing to thank for that.  His face… Sam had a face that wouldn't seem like much at first glance but there was simply something about him that made you want to keep looking once he caught your eye. Strong jawline, straight nose, deep-set brown eyes that turned into half-moons whenever he smiled, which was often. It convinced Erin that he could make any person fall in love by doing something as simple as breathing, and you'd find yourself becoming jealous of the air that filled his lungs because it could touch him in places that you couldn't.

Not that she was in love with him, but she would be an idiot not to notice what a total hottie her roommate was.

“Whatever, noona.”

His voice snapped Erin out of her haze.

"Go out with your book nerds and paint the town beige," Sammy pushed away from the threshold, padded into the room and came to stand behind where Erin sat.

It should be noted that Erin wasn't entirely dressed either. She was in her robe, bare underneath, and silently willing her nipples not to get hard. The vanity mirror she set up cut Sammy off at the neck so all she could see was his torso just about pressed up against her back. He leaned down bringing his cheek close to her own.

She inhaled softly. The scent of his soap and cologne filled her nostrils and almost made her eyes flutter with satisfaction. She held it together though, no matter how much Erin harped on and on about not feeling anything but friendship for Samuel the past few months made it clear she wasn't sure what the hell she felt anymore.

They had been friends long before they decided to live together. Having seen each other through all the lows and highs of life since high school, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that they were more than just friends. They were basically family. Which was why Erin just couldn't bear to question exactly what had been going on between them lately. The closer than normal contact, him asking to share the bed with her because the pullout couch was messing with his back, all the goodbye kisses that seemed to linger for a second too long to be innocent. All signs pointed to the fact that he was feeling the same kind of attraction that she was, but even with all that evidence Erin just couldn't muster up the courage to call any attention to it.

Sammy brought a hand up and brushed it through gently through Erin's hair. Inwardly, her muscles tensed at his caress, and ripples of energy splintered everywhere. Erin's hair just happened to be an erogenous zone for her, but apparently only when Sammy touched it, which he did often enough.

"If you really want to go have some fun, then I'll stop bothering you," Sammy stated, twirling a strand around his index finger.

His voice sounded coarse like the words pained him to say out loud, that was probably just Erin's imagination.

Instead of responding Erin shrugged her shoulders and reached for her darkest tube of lipstick that wasn't actually black. Dreary colors usually did the trick to scare any guys planning to target her as an easy lay. To the weak of heart, they seemed to suggest hypersexuality, dabbling in witchcraft or both. Which meant whatever lame pickup line they had planned would not fly with her.

“Don't make it sound like I'm locking you in a cage here by yourself.” Erin said after a few seconds, biting into her lip when Sammy's hand smoothed down to her shoulder.

His brow scrunched, and his lips pulled down at the corners. “There's only so much I can do when you're not here.”

Erin snickered and began lining her lips in plum lipstick. “We have internet and a laptop, go nuts.”

“That's only fun when I think you're gonna catch me.”

Erin's eyebrow quirked, but she ignored that minor revelation “You're so gross.”

Sammy laughed again and that curious hand of his moved back up to Erin's neck, his thumb rubbing circles at her nape.

“You're distracting me,” She said through a soft breath.

“Ah, sorry,”  Sammy dropped his hand, but he didn't move from his spot. His eyes zeroed in on her lips while she put on her lipstick. “Is that new? I really like that color on you noona.”

Capping the lipstick, Erin smiled gently and looked forward, her eyes connecting with Sammy's through his reflection in the mirror. “When exactly did I become noona, by the way? In the years we've known each other I can count on one hand the amount of times you've called me that.”

Sammy smirked and shrugged his shoulders, "You don't like it?"

It was quite the opposite, actually. If Erin had a smidgen of confidence, she would tell him she absolutely adored hearing him call her 'noona'. She was over the novelty of the age gap a year after moving to South Korea but there was just something about the way Sammy said it. It wasn't said condescendingly or begrudgingly but with genuine love and Erin could feel that.

"Nah, it makes me feel old."

"Well, that's too bad because I enjoy saying it to you-" Sammy lowered his frame until he rested on his haunches with is chin just about resting on Erin's shoulder. "Noona."

He was too low for her to elbow him like she wanted to so Erin settled for judgmental glare before returning to her makeup. "Keep this up and I'll be waking you up in the middle of the night just to gush all about all the guys I make out with tonight, with vivid detail."

Sammy cocked a lopsided grin. "I doubt that will happen. When you spend nights making out with guys you don't want to give it up to, I usually just hear you lock the door and bzzzzz." He replied, complete with sound effects and what could only be described as his imitation of a stroke victim having an orgasm.

"Out! Right now, that's enough out of you for the night" Erin exclaimed through a mixture of laughter and embarrassed groans, turning to smack him a few times on the shoulder.

Chuckling, Sammy rose to his feet.

"All right, all right I'll go but I do have one question for you," He said as he stared down at Erin, placing his hands on his hips, and wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. Erin dug all ten of her fingernails into her kneecaps to get a hold of herself.

"What's your question, Samuel?"

"Are you planning on bringing anyone home tonight?"

Erin paused, suspicion making her eyes squint gently. That was a question she'd never heard from him before. "Why?"

"Just answer the question, Erin."

"I....don't know, probably not. Why?"

"I just wanted to know if I'd have time to try out my new noise-cancelling headphones tonight."

With that Erin rolled her eyes and stood to face him, "I've had enough of you Sammy, get out. I need to get dressed and you’re just distracting me with foolishness." Sammy only chuckled then shuffled toward the door, whistling.

Just as quickly as he left Sammy's head popped up at the corner of the entrance again. Erin stared at him expectantly.

"Why don't I come out with you tonight? I know for a fact that you only tolerate those book club girls and I know Kasey won't be coming because I was eavesdropping earlier. Come on, I'll do you a favor. ,"

Erin's fingers strummed the vanity top as she contemplated her roommate's suggestion. The girls from her study group weren't exactly nuns, but they definitely weren't the most fun to hang with on a Friday night. They also probably wouldn't take too kindly to Erin inviting a guy to their 'Girl's Night Out'. However, having Sammy around all but guaranteed that she would have a good time tonight, even if it meant getting on their bad side.

It seemed worth it right?

"Can you promise to be on your best behavior?"

He shrugged. "Probably, but that depends on what you mean by 'best'."

"Like no challenging random people to a dance off, no hitting on any of my study group members..."

Sammy laughed. "Ooh, don't think I can agree to that last request, I've been on a kind of book smart, nerdy girl kick lately."

"Ugh, whatever just don't make it obvious" Erin replied, grabbing her cellphone. "I'll text Kim and tell her I have a....friend joining me."

Sammy beamed and immediately rushed over to envelop Erin in a smothering hug, making her blush like a silly schoolgirl in return. "We're gonna have a blast, noona."

Erin grinned and stroked the smooth skin on his back softly. "I wouldn't speak too soon."

The smile on Sammy's face faltered slightly, but he made no attempt at letting her go, his hands found their way into Erin's hair again and she shuddered slightly. A response that did not go unnoticed by Sammy since their bodies were practically sandwiched together. "You don't sound convinced."

"I don't control the future; we could get hit by a car on our way there. Go cover up your nips. We have to leave soon, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah" The lean boy replied as he slowly released Erin from his grasp and began making his way toward the door for the third time that night. He paused for a second once he was in the doorway and turned to glance at Erin who was combing through her hair, "Can I make a suggestion?"

"This better not be something silly."

"Wear your hair up."

Erin blinked a few times at her reflection before her eyebrow shot upward and she swiveled her head in Sammy's direction, waiting for him to elaborate on his random suggestion.

His expression was serious, and his eyes almost appeared to be darkened. "Your hair up, with that dark lipstick…? You look irresistible."

A pang of electricity sparked right through Erin's core, it took every amount of self-restraint in her not to cross the room and smear her perfectly applied lipstick all over his toned chest.

Instead, she chose to cover up her attraction with a pleasant smile while obediently complying with his request.

 "Up it is."

[manandvannow-blr]

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What is the cheapest way to transport a over 250 miles?

 There are lot of things take place into account here. How long the distance is? and what is the exact weight? If you are looking to do it yourself, it will be gona very costly to arrange all the things. i.e. a Moving Van, Person to help in loading and unloading. One of the important thing how much truck required to shift all the boxes from one place to destination. You should aware of roads before shifting anything. Due to mountains, broken roads & other. Personality I think it would be better to pass a contract to trusted companies like manandvannow.com best moving transport company.

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In London, can I call a cab company, and ask for a van to carry my belongings to move? What're recommended, inexpensive van services?

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Manandvannow.com Moving Van Rental has the lowest one-way prices goes € 1299 - € 2000.

What is the cheapest way to move from London to England?

 For longer moves, one-way truck rental can be cheaper than round-trip. For example, to rent a 500sqft moving van to move from London to England  would cost € 2200, according to manandvannow.com and Manandvannow.com online estimate. That includes 1 days of rental and up to 1 hr 57 min (81.2 miles) as on 21st of December 2020

How can I move cheaply?

1. Either sell your stuff or move with the help of any moving company.

2. Rent a moving car from companies like manandvannow.com

3. Get free moving boxes and and packing tapes.

4. Rent a moving truck

5. Use a freight trailer

6. Choose a better moving date.

7. Ship your stuff

How much is the cheapest hire moving Van?

 Let’s start your moving with the help of local move in London. Moving Van rates start as low as € 100 and if you need extended miles or days, manandvannow.com and Manandvannow.com offer a best rate guarantee and special truck rental rates on our Cargo Vans and Pickup Trucks.

Does any moving company work for unlimited miles?

 Manandvannow.com does offer unlimited mile at certain fixed cost. Instead, one-way moves include a set number of days and miles, with no additional miles.

manandvannow.com also offer unlimited miles at a fixed cost. I support both companies are doing such a great job.

Who is cheaper manandvannow.com?

 manandvannow.com is affordable company in London. Popular over the many states in London. While manandvannow.com is most recognizable moving van rental company. When it come to cost Manandvannow.com has lower costs than manandvannow.com. Both are expert in more services, and more locations, while Budget is more transparent about pricing and more proactive in dealing with customer complaints.

What is the cheapest moving company in London?

Top 5 Cheap and Affordable Moving Companies

• manandvannow.com run multi-service company

• Manandvannow.com

• Motorcycle-recovery-london.co.uk

• Man and van now.

• Affordable Movers.

How much does it cost to rent Men and Van for 2 days?

 Usually local moving vans and men rentals are quite affordable. Van rates starts at a flat rate of € 50 with additional fees such as fuel costs, mileage, environmental fees and taxes. And pick-up trucks and cargo vans come out for € 100-200 Larger moving trucks cost € 400 to 1000 per day.

What do Movers cost per hour?

 As stated above, the average rates for a moving van and man service will vary depending on the time of the year (they tend to be cheaper in the winter) but on average, you can expect to pay: €80-€ 100 per hour for 2 men. €100-€120 per hour for 3 men.

Does manandvannow.com rent vans?

The manandvannow.com offers van rentals to accommodate any project/ service. Each van can be rented starting at €50 and can carry up to 3,000 lbs. ... Whether you are moving personal items or a large purchase, renting a van is a great option and will protect your items from the elements.

How hard is it to drive a 15 ft Cargo Van?

 A 15ft or above cargo truck is very easy to drive, it is a truck. The biggest problem most people have is driving it as though it is their car. Just remember, it will take longer to stop especially loaded and/or if you are moving household items. Be careful with overhangs, the truck needs clearance.

How much does a budget truck cost?

 The average cost at manandvan to move with Budget Truck Rental is  € 500, and it's especially affordable for local moves, which cost just at € 80 on average. While Budget's base rates are cheaper than its competitors like manandvannow.com—especially for local moves—it's not necessarily the cheapest rental truck company for every situation.

What is the cheapest truck rental for moving?

 manandvannow.com Cheap man and van London Rental has the lowest one-way prices, or round trips. The average cost of a one-way move with manandvannow.com Moving Van Rental is at €1000—or about at € 100 less than average.

Is manandvannow.com the cheapest way to move?

 For longer moves, one-way truck rental is probably cheaper than round-trip. For example, to rent a 20-foot manandvannow.com truck to move from London to England would cost at € 500, according to manandvannow.com online estimate. That includes 1 days of rental and up to 81 miles.

How much is it to rent a cargo van for a day?

 If you want to move within the home state or any other state, manandvannow.com works full day with 100% professional work, you'll be charged the full-day rate, which ranges from at € 100 to at € 150 or more it depends on Van and man size & strength.

What is the cheapest day to move?

 The Cheapest Day of the Week to Move, it sometimes depends but the short answer to this question is that it's cheaper to move on a weekday — Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. Simply put, most moving companies like manandvannow.com and manandvannow.com offer better rates during the week because they aren't as busy then.

What is the cheapest way to move furniture?

 The cheapest way to move furniture with a moving van rental in London. Suppose you rent a truck, pack and load your stuff yourself, and drive the truck to your new home, you'll pay much less than you would for other types of movers. But truck rental isn't the only option. It always hard to pack – load and then unload the furniture. I suggest hire manandvannow.com a trusted company in London.

What is the cheapest month to move?

 January will be the cheapest month, but it is also usually the coldest. What time of month should you move in London? Most companies offer discount at the first of the month like manandvannow.com and manandvannow.com, so in reality, if you can find a deal allowing you to move mid-month, you will find the best prices.

[stylesmyth]

FLOURISHED SUN

London, England 3rd of November, 2011

“Does anyone know why I’m missing fifteen students on a Thursday morning?” Mrs. Garino asks, standing by the electronic whiteboard at the front of the class, arms crossed. The final morning bell races in echoes down the hall and into classrooms, signalling the start of the school day. “Is there an eight AM rave that I’m not aware of?”

          A few tired chuckles come from my classmates, but no one offers any explanation. As I sit in the second row, I have to turn around to see that, indeed, there are quite a few desks empty. The one I focus on, though—a row to my left, two desks back—relieves me from the worry I’ve felt since stepping out of my car and onto the school grounds earlier this morning. Ernest Winland, with unruly brown hair falling along his forehead, is slouched in his seat, fiddling with a pen between his fingers. If I knew no better, I would believe he has been sitting there for half an hour. But I do know better, and since he didn’t meet me in the school yard or walk with me to class, like most mornings, I know he likely overslept and arrived by the skin of his teeth.

          He catches my gaze and knows he can’t fool me with his calm demeanour. As if he’s certain that I will have questions about his tardiness, he mouths later, and winks. Even after a year of us being together, Ernie never fails at being able to send my freckled cheeks blushing the colour of my hair.

          I turn around as Mrs. Garino sighs. “Regardless, class shall continue as normal. So, if everyone will please direct their attention to the board, we’ll watch the morning announcements and go from there.”

           Many classes skip over watching the announcements each morning, believing they take away too much time that could be spent teaching. But as this class focuses on many current events, local and worldwide, it’s mandatory to watch them every morning. Mrs. Garino turns off the lights, allowing what little sun peeking through the early November overcast to stream through the open blinds. Soon, even that’s cancelled out by the glow of the projector hitting the white board, and the video starts playing.

           The student director of the school newspaper also doubles as the host of the announcements, wearing a button-down shirt, bowtie, and glasses. A model student. Even his accent sounds posher and over enthused during the video.

“Goooood morning, students! It is officially Friday Eve, which means the weekend is so nearly here, but we can’t get excited just yet. Though, what we can get excited for is Taco Thursday. Who’s with me?!”

           A silly animated illustration flashes up of two dancing tacos and confetti. An unconvincing cheer comes from one student in the back before the host returns into the frame.

           “But without further ado, let’s get into the news, shall we? Prime Minister Burrell stood before Parliament yesterday to propose a new law on immigration…”

           On cue, I divert my eyes and doodle in the margins of my paper to feign boredom. I get to the second eye of a face before my phone buzzes. I only reach for it when I know Mrs. Garino is occupied with the announcements.

           Ernie: please direct your attention to the screen, Miss Francie Pants. I might have to call your father if you keep misbehaving like this!

           My eyes roll at his nickname for me—derived from my middle name, Francesca—but I don’t give him the satisfaction of turning around to do it at him.

           Delaney: bugger off will ya? I’m trying to listen to the news

           As I look back up, the segment about the Prime Minister seems to have finished. I stow my phone away.

           “Now, I know we’ve been hearing a lot of worrying news out of America recently, but here’s something that might shine some light for the whole world! The head scientist at the University of Massachusetts Medical School has announced major steps in creating a cure for Down Syndrome. The cure, according to the scientist, is meant to neutralise the extra copy of the twenty-first chromosome. This study has been ongoing for many years, with copious amounts of information discovered by the University. All documentations and reports can be accessed on the University’s website, if you’re interested in researching more of this.

           “Before signing off, I want to advise all students and teachers to practice good hygiene because a virus is currently making its rounds in the city. It is not airborne, but can be spread from close contact between people.”

           The host begins to say goodbye as a cough sounds behind me. I look back at Ernie, who coughs again, with quizzical eyes. Are you sick? I mouth as the lights come back on. It would explain why he didn’t arrive at school at his usual time, but he shakes his head and mouths back whilst pointing to his neck: there’s something in my throat.

           “Miss Burrell,” Mrs. Garino calls. I snap my head forward to look at her, feeling like disappearing with her use of my last name. I know almost all eyes are on me at the sound of my last name, an unnecessary reminder to my schoolmates of who my father is. “I suggest you not let Mr. Winland distract you if you want to pass my class. Eyes up front, everyone.”

           I sink into my seat and start doodling again.

***

           After the last class of the day, mine being math and his being gym, Ernie walks with me to my car, hair damp from the shower he just took after sweating for ninety minutes. We walk slowly, in no rush to approach the black vehicle sitting idle at the curb, Union Jacks waving tall and proud on the hood. In one hand, he holds his worn-down skateboard, and in the other, my hand.

           “Wanta tell me why you were late this morning?” I ask. “I’m not used to not seeing you in the courtyard.”

           “Mum had left for work, and I was almost ready” —he coughs—“to walk Ty to school when I realised”—another cough—“the little bugger had been in his room way too long. Turns out he felt bad and overslept. Asked the elderly lady next door” —and another—“if she could watch him for the day as I came here.”

           His explanation is riddled with breaks, so he can cough.

           “You think it’s that virus?”

           We unfortunately make it to my waiting car. He opens the back door for me as I toss my rucksack in, letting my driver, Brandon, know I’ll be ready in a moment. Ernie and I stand with the door between us, but still only inches apart.

           “Likely. I’ll get him back home and find out what medicine he needs. I should probably take some, too.” He coughs again, as if proving himself.

           “Wouldn’t hurt,” I agree. “Guess I shouldn’t kiss you either.”

           “I would disagree, Miss Francie Pants.”

           “Oh, now you’re definitely not getting a kiss,” I tease, stepping into my car and shutting the door as he groans. I roll down my tinted window as soon as the car comes to life. Ernie rests his forearms at the top of the door, ducking his head down to see into the car. “Get better, and maybe, maybe, tomorrow.”

           He shuts his eyes and coughs before responding. “Fine, but if the doctors find I overdosed on Vitamin C tonight because I was trying to get better, it’s all your fault, love.”

           My eyes roll at his terrible joke, and I would flip him off just for the banter, but my car is already pulling away. I settle into the black leather seats of the Jaguar, pulling out a book that’s required to be read for my American Literature class. Brandon, who’s focused on the road, doesn’t see that I’m attempting to finish the book when he starts a conversation.

           “I trust school was well, Miss Burrell?”

           Closing my book to engage in the chat, I say flatly, “Just as well as any other school day, Brandon.”

           His gaze leaves the road for a split second to look at me through the rear-view mirror. We both break out into grins and chuckles. He knows I hate being asked about school—because school is school, and never deviates from normal—and he knows it. Just like he knows I hate him calling me by my last name. Still, he continues to use them without fail.

           Brandon is, regardless of his flaws, my favourite security member. He’s twenty-nine, the youngest staff my dad has employed, and his personality is vastly different than the others. He’s much more friendly, and is always ready to joke around—unless the situation requires a more serious approach. I had one different driver before Brandon, who was dreadfully boring and always stern. The moment Brandon replaced her was the moment I was eternally grateful that my father could see the work relationship wasn’t working.

           And since he’s been my driver and personal guard for the last year, we’ve grown to know each other quite well. He doesn’t speak to his family anymore, for reasons he always tells me aren’t important. But his lack of familial commitment made him perfect for a potentially life-threatening job, protecting the Prime Minister and his daughter. He knows more about my relationship with Ernie than anymore, probably even more than my dad, simply because he’s almost always around when I’m with Ernie. He knows I’m rarely serious, and finds it hilarious when I try to be.

           Besides Ernie, Brandon is the only other person I really consider a friend.

          He pulls through the opening gates and stops at the front door of 10 Downing Street, my home and Father’s personal office. Wishing I didn’t have to endure the publicity act every time I want to return home, I step out of the car with my bag hanging off one shoulder, saying a quick thanks to Brandon. I’m ready to flash a smile to the reporters across the street as he pulls away, but I notice the scene isn’t as usual. Only half dozen reporters are on the other side of the fairly small, dead-end road, behind metal barricades that are specifically designated for them. When they see me, their cameras turn on, and they speak into the microphones and then hold it out for my reply, but over the car engine that’s still close by, I can’t hear their words. It doesn’t help that many of them are wearing white medical masks around their mouths, hooked behind their ears.

           They must not want to catch the virus, I assume. Or maybe they already have it and don’t want to spread it.

           Regardless, I make my way inside, shutting the black door and locking it. I call out for my father, the high ceilings and marble stair cases allowing my voice to travel further. Typically, he’s home by the time I’m back from school, unless there is urgent business to be handled elsewhere. Brandon didn’t tell me my father hasn’t returned home, though, so I begin to ascend the stairs, calling for him again.

           I decide to start looking for him in the most obvious of places: his office. The sound of my school shoes is muffled by the long, light green rug that runs the length of the hallway decked out with prestigious paintings. My father’s office is situated between a large library filled with numerous book, old and new, and his bedroom, each of the rooms connecting to the next.

           “Dad?”

           His office door is cracked open, enough that when I peer into it, I can see my father sitting behind his grand oak desk. He isn’t looking down at papers, however. His head is lifted to stare in front of him. “Dad, are you alright?” I question, pushing the door open further to see what he’s seeing.

           A dozen, if not more, men stand in the spacious office, making it look more cramped than it should. They’re all dressed in suits and ties, looking back at me with stern gazes. Some I recognise from government dinners and social events I attend with my father, but others I’ve never met before. I quickly realise I’m not meant to be here. That I’ve walked into a meeting not meant for my ears.

           “Darling,” my father addresses me. His eyes look tired and unfocused. I swear he’s grown a hundred new grey hairs overnight. “I thought I heard you come in. There’s been an impromptu meeting come up—we should be done very soon. We’ll have dinner afterwards, and talk about the day, okay?”

           I nod warily, backing out of the entryway, dragging the door with me. “Okay. I’ll be in my room doing some work.”

           Voices start firing off before I can fully secure the door in its place. I do go to my room, but I’m distracted from trying to complete homework. What kind of meeting, unscheduled or not, requires a dozen government officials to gather in our home? What’s so important that it couldn’t wait for tomorrow?

           Whatever it is must be extremely important, though, as two hours pass by, the clock hand reaching five before there’s a knock at my door. Dad pokes his head in, still looking like he could sleep for a year, but now wears a smile.

           “Ready for dinner?” he asks.

           I push away from my desk littered with papers and book, responding, “I’m always ready for food. It shouldn’t even be a question, Dad.”

           We exit my room, following a series of hallways and one staircase to reach the dining room. Dad keeps walking through the room, towards the set of doors leading to the kitchen. The dining room is empty, which surprises me. “Are the people from your meeting not staying for dinner?”

           It’s not uncommon to have guest over for meals, almost always to discuss some form of business, government, or world affairs. The dining room, set up with a grand, wooden table that seats two dozen easily, would always serve as the setting for these dinners.

           “The meeting was so sudden that the kitchen staff would not be able to prepare such amounts of food on short notice, so no. They also have families to return home to, just as I have a daughter I much prefer to eat dinner with in the kitchen over those buggers any day.”

           Anytime I hear my dad, one of the most powerful men in the United Kingdom, use such informal language, I can’t help but laugh. It’s so rare to see that particular side of him, mainly because I don’t see him as often as other daughters would see their fathers. That’s one of the many reasons that, when it’s just us eating together, we choose to dine on stools at the kitchen bar. The dining room is too big, too ornate, to feel comfortable in on a day to day basis.

           “I really like it, too, Dad.”

           Harriet greets us when we enter the main kitchen. She’s the head chef in our house, slightly older than my father, but with a far more youthful soul than him. We chat mostly about cooking related subjects as my father and I fill up our plates and she frosts cupcakes. Dad insists she take the leftovers home to her family, so she wouldn’t have to cook yet another dinner.

           As Dad and I begin to eat, I ask her, “How has your son been?”

           She smiles at talk of her only son. “He’s glad to be home from his study abroad in Boston, but he’s been feeling a bit poorly the last few days. Must be that bug going around. Apparently, it’s making rounds in America as well.”

           “You should take home some cupcakes as well, then!” I reply. “They’ll surely brighten up his day.”

           She agrees, likely because she knows I won’t let her leave without at least half of the sweets she made. And when she does leave against her own volition, Dad and I are still eating, commenting about our days as a small telly sitting in the corner of the counter drones on in the background.

           There’s a lull in conversation, so I pick up a cupcake and think of a new topic. “There were many kids absent from school today, you know? Probably from that same virus Harriet’s son has.”

           Dad doesn’t immediately respond, he doesn’t even meet my eyes, as he chews over his food. It sets me on edge. There aren’t many things my dad strays from talking about, and almost everything he refrains from is classified and government related and meant to stay that way.

           “I think Ernest’s little brother has it, too.”

           That catches his attention.

           “Is Ernest also sick?” he asks, setting his fork down and standing from his stool. He collects the remaining dirty dishes to wash in the sink, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. On nights like this, when Dad sends the kitchen staff home early, one of us usually cleans up the mess left over. It’s a small tradition we started when we moved in, to keep up grounded and humble to have such amazing staff working with us.

           I shrug even though his back is turned towards me. “He had a cough this morning, but nothing too bad. Why? Is there something wrong?”

           He turns on the faucet and starts washing his plate. “There’s nothing wrong, sweetheart.”

           “Do you know what kind of virus it is? Is it like the flu, or something?”

           “No, but many doctors are looking into it.”

           “Is that what the meeting was about today?”

           I know I’m treading a delicate rope when he turns off the water and finally turns towards me. He wipes off his hands before leaning onto the opposite side of the bar, looking directly at me. “Delaney, you know there are some things I can’t speak of. But as your father, not the Prime Minister, I think it’d be in your best interest to keep some distance from Ernest. At least until all of this virus nonsense goes away.”

           My eyebrows knit together. “If it were nonsense, then I shouldn’t have to stay away from Ernie.”

           He sighs, “It wouldn’t be wise to be around him if he’s getting sick.”

           “Well, geez, Dad, I could get sick from anyone for that matter! Doesn’t mean I’m going to stay away from everyone,” I say exasperated. “You say it’s nothing, but if you can’t give me one good reason to not see him, then you can’t request I follow your advice.”

           He looks conflicted at my statement. I can almost see the weights on his shoulders, pushing him down and down and down. And then he cracks. “Someone has died.”

           My face drops. “W-what?”

           “This virus has killed someone in England. And that could just be the one we know about.” He threads pruned fingers into his hair. “So, the meeting today was to discuss what we need to do.”

           “And that is?”

           He looks at me straight on, no longer afraid, it seems, to divulge information.

           “First, I am going to start with shutting down the schools.”

[neighborhood-newtina-reblogger]

Forward motion

Word Count: 2.4K

I’m writing a multi-chapter fic that will eventually include and go beyond the chapter I posted as “Not a moment to spare.” This is chapter 1. Forgive the exposition. Picking up at the end of COG.

Footsteps on the wet stone of the viaduct were practically the only indication that eight people were making their way to the school grounds. Just one voice carried forward from the back of the crew: the overly companionable one belonging to Flamel, who was valiantly attempting to make conversation with Nagini. 

The animagus, for her part, hadn’t made a sound since their arrival at the castle. Left alone in the Great Hall for the hour Newt had been in Dumbledore’s office, the rest of the crew attempted to fill the empty air with light conversation, albeit with mixed success. Nagini didn’t engage with the stilted questions about the cities of Paris, New York, and London. The weather in each place didn’t interest her in the slightest. Nor did she particularly care about the popular tourist attractions at each spot. She kept her thoughts locked up tight inside her. She slouched her shoulders in and kept her arms tight to her body, as if to close herself off from the rest of the group. She maintained that posture even now as they walked. A cue clearly missed by the ancient alchemist. 

Yusuf strode along beside Jacob, ​though the two did not even spare a passing glance. The shorter man ambled on with a look of resignation, the wonder and confusion he experienced upon their arrival having faded with his confrontation of the sobering circumstance that brought them there. Yusuf, for his part, kept his eyes trained squarely in front of him, where Newt and Dumbledore strode with purpose. Their grey attire matched the gloomy sky and the gloomy mood. Nobody dared call attention to the tension that lingered heavily between the two men. As for his appearances, Dumbledore donned what would have been a convincingly cool façade, but his hesitance to make conversation with Newt betrayed his true feelings. Newt, however, put forth no effort to mask his distaste for the whole situation. He wore the closest thing to a scowl he could muster, eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly downturned. His grip on his suitcase was unusually tight in his left hand, seemingly placed there on purpose to create a barrier between himself and his old professor. 

The smell of wet grass in the courtyard they entered held very specific memories for Theseus, ones that he didn’t much care to relive right now. Of a time when he actually had friends. When he could run around and laugh and play without shouldering the weight of all the atrocities of the world. Weight that someone had come along to finally help him bear. Weight made intrinsically lighter by her reminder that there was light in this dark world. That love and friendship were real and attainable and worth fighting for. And fight she had. He considered turning around and heading alone back to the Great Hall when his opportunity was cut short by Dumbledore’s voice:

“Let’s have a look at the beast, shall we?”

Newt pursed his lips and set his case down in the middle of the grass. Tina emerged from where she’d hidden herself at the back of the pack, cradling an injured niffler in her right arm, and motioned for the others to stand back just before the zouwu came roaring to the surface. Nagini gasped and grabbed Yusuf’s arm. He gave a few uncomfortable pats to her hand, which she quickly withdrew. The creature circled the perimeter of the grounds like a raging river of orange and red ribbons before alerting to the jingle of the feathered kitty toy. She roared forward and screeched to a stop before Newt, who promptly dropped the lure back into the case. With the zouwu safely recaptured only seconds after her explosive release, Dumbledore broke past Tina’s barricade and placed a hand on Newt’s shoulder, which earned him a sharp glare from the magizoologist.

“She’s surely a fine creature, just as you said.”

Newt recognized the glimmer in Dumbledore’s eyes. It was mischievous. Scheming. Decidedly up to something. “You’re not using my creatures for any of your clever plots, professor. I won’t allow it. I agreed to show you the zouwu as a matter of strictly academic interest.”

Dumbledore gave a hum in acknowledgement, which set Newt fuming. It was a slight sound, but it spoke volumes. It said that his concerns were a minor inconvenience that could be easily swept aside with just a little persuasion. Well, perhaps he could be convinced about illegal travel to Paris given additional incentives, but nothing could ever justify weaponizing his life’s work. He was in charge of his creatures, and that would never change.

Newt scanned the small crowd, most of whom looked varying degrees of scared or amazed by the spectacle they’d witnessed. All except one, who was busy negotiating with the niffler over a pearly button on her blouse, which peeked out from where her stark leather trench coat shrouded her whole body. She looked conflicted as she gently pushed his paw away with a finger, being mindful of his injuries. Newt’s scowl softened slightly with the knowledge that he’d made the right decision in handing him off before disappearing with Dumbledore. She was whispering something to the creature, though Newt couldn’t make out what it was. The silence must have persisted for a second too long, because Yusuf finally spoke up to ask after their lodging.

At this, Tina’s attention snapped back to the people standing next to her, and she gave a concerned look to Nagini, who had once again had retreated into her small personal bubble. 

“Yes, well, we’ve been making arrangements for you over the course of the day. Unfortunately the dormitories and common rooms have newly become occupied by students, as is the way of things come September, but I’ve ensured that adequate space is prepared for each of you in spare offices around the castle. I trust you will find everything to your liking.” He turned to address the rest of the group. “You are all safe at Hogwarts.”

“Exactly how secure are these offices? We can’t afford any mishaps with Newt’s case, and it‘s probably be best if we keep its contents hushed up. The creatures and the children have to be kept safe if we’re gonna be here a few days.”

Newt wanted to collapse in relief every time he heard Tina use his given name after so much time being “Mr. Scamander,” and prior to that not being addressed at all for months. Only this time, his knees actually did buckle a little thanks to his state of general exhaustion. He bent down to click the latches on his case and take it in hand as he spoke: “I promise you, Tina, that after New York I’ve taken steps to ensure that my case is both muggle and niffler-proof. Not to worry.”

She gave him a small smile, which set his heart to fluttering. He had seen it before just hours ago, still in Paris, when the ragged bunch gathered around the fountain awaiting word on their portkey arrangements. There was so much still unsaid, but he was almost certain that the worst of their misunderstanding was cleared up. She knew now that he hadn’t gotten engaged. She didn’t ridicule his Salamander eyes comment. In fact, she finished it. They’d fought side-by-side, a well-synchronized machine, just as they were nine months ago in New York. She just might be the most special woman on the planet. The growth of a soft smile on his lips skidded to a halt as he remembered the one thing he’d gotten no closure on: that man Queenie had mentioned. That auror. Dare he even ask? If that thought hadn’t been enough to sour what had a been a content few moments of contemplation and sustained eye contact between the two, Dumbledore’s voice was sure to paste the frown back on Newt’s face. 

“All unused rooms in the castle are enchanted to grant access only to certain witches and wizards. The charms have been updated so that each of you will be the only ones able to open or close the doors using your wands.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Tina saw Nagini’s head drop to look down at her empty hands. Her heart went out to the young woman; she could recognize false bravery when she saw it. This woman needed an ally. 

“Is a wand the only way to unlock the doors, professor?” She said this giving a slight nod in Nagini’s direction. Dumbledore looked puzzled for a fraction of a second. The flicker went unnoticed by anyone but Newt, who felt an incredible amount of satisfaction. Leave it to his Tina to ask a straightforward yet unexpected question for which Dumbledore wasn’t fully prepared. The professor trained his focus on the maledictus, who kept her eyes to the ground. Sensing she was now the center of attention, she lifted her head first to look at Tina, who gave her a warm smile and nod. She snapped her gaze to Dumbledore and spoke with a low and steady voice:

“I don’t have one.”

Nagini’s calm and shy exterior masked an inner turmoil that Tina could only hope to understand some day, at least enough to be of some help. This woman clearly cared very much for Credence, and Credence trusted her to some degree. What was the nature of their relationship, anyway? Had they become friends in the circus? What had they gone through at the hands of that wretched ringmaster?

With Dumbledore’s assurances that something else could be worked out for Nagini, the group started heading back. Tina placed her free hand—that is, the one not occupied by a now gently snoring niffler—gingerly between Nagini’s shoulder blades, giving her enough of a start to cause Tina to immediately withdraw the gesture of comfort. Both women whispered “sorry” at the same time, and Nagini sped up her steps a little to join Yusuf, Theseus, and Jacob in silence.

Left at the back of the pack, an opportunity finally presented itself. Taking a steadying breath, Newt resolved to not let his chance get away. “Tina, might I have a word for just a moment?”

Her heart thumped at the sound of him unexpectedly so close behind her. She turned her head to find his eyes and slowed to a stop. She adjusted the niffler slightly in her arms, shifting him more securely to the crook of her elbow, and waited for Newt to continue.

“Tina, about the records room.”

She smiled. A breathtaking, warm smile that let her dimples make an appearance. 

“Yes?” 

“Well, I can’t help but feel that we were somewhat interrupted.”

“I guess we might’ve been.” She took a half step closer, just as she had not a day prior. “Salamander eyes?” That spark she used to have when teasing him returned, and it transported him back to that rooftop in New York when she’d chuckled about Dougal’s name. 

He cleared his throat. “Yes well, what I meant to say is, you have beautiful eyes. And you’re beautiful. Probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And I’ve—I’d been losing sleep at night with worry for you. Not knowing whether you were angry with me for my comment about aurors or whether you’d been hurt and I had no way of knowing...it was maddening. And to find out it was all because of some stupid magazine, well I’ll write to the editors first thing tomorrow. I’m sorry that I let that hurt you, Tina. I should’ve kept writing. I feel—well, I feel that I failed you. As a friend.”

All the air was sucked out of her lungs as soon as he began to speak. Beautiful. The most beautiful, even. Losing sleep? He wasn’t meeting her eyes, but she could see through his fringe how his brows furrowed with the effort of making these confessions.

“You couldn’t have done anything, Newt. You didn’t even know the damn thing had been printed! I should have reached out to you instead of letting myself stew over it. I did some dumb things when I should have known better. If I’d have just asked— ”

“Well, clearly I had done something wrong if I made it possible for you to believe even for a second that I would marry another woman.” She raised her eyebrows at his interruption and he panicked, “Not that I—I just mean—there was nothing between me and Leta anymore and if I gave any indication that there was, I—well, it was unintentional. And surely I would not have kept such a significant development in my life from you in light of our—of our friendship. I assure you that I have no plans to marry anyone at all.” He cringed and she opened her mouth so say something. “Not that it’s—I mean—sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just—“

“Hey, hey, Newt,” she put her arm on his shoulder and gave him a little laugh. “It’s alright. I get it.”

“You do?” She nodded. “Good, good, that’s...that’s good.”

“Let’s just move on from all that now, okay?”

“Yes, right. Moving on.”

Tina gave him another bright smile when the niffler stirred in her arms. It groggily sniffed in Newt’s direction, and the two shared a slight chuckle. 

“Newt, I think he wants his mommy.”

He took a step closer to help her transfer the niffler securely to his own arms. He tried to keep himself steady for the niffler’s sake, even if the way their arms and hands brushed sent enough electricity through his body to topple him over. Merlin, when did it get this bad?

She reached over to scratch the creature’s belly as Newt shifted to a more comfortable position before she turned to keep pace with the group. As the distance between them grew he felt his head grow hot and his thoughts dissolve into a chaotic haze. What were you thinking? ‘Beautiful.’ He should have complimented her intelligence or her wit or her heart! A woman like Tina doesn’t just want to hear beautiful. She deserves something more complete. And he even said ‘probably the most beautiful.’ ‘Probably!’ He didn’t even say it with certainty! And “marrying another woman”, what had possessed him? What a terrible way to phrase things. He almost made it better and then the not marrying at all! Bloody hell.

[bubblyani]

Salt (Tommy x Reader)

Tommy Conlon One Shot

Genre: Smut

Author’s Note: I could say this can be sort of a continuation to my One Shot Killer. I had that in mind as I wrote this. Been a while since I wrote anything Tommy hehe. So...time for some Tommy feels. Enjoy!

“Turn 2...3 and pose!! That’s it..that’s the whole Choreo...Great job you guys!”

Your hands slip with the sweat as you clap furiously alongside your students after a fulfilling dance lesson on a Thursday night. You’re always the happiest when everyone finds the moves fun, and when the atmosphere gets exciting in turn.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Waving to some students, you swung your bag over your shoulder, as you headed out. But the sight of one certain Tommy Conlon waiting outside made you slow down. Turning to your direction, he smiled back seeing you smile and mouth “Hey”. “Ooooh...Ms. Y/N’s boyfriend Is here” You closed your eyes, chuckling. Turning over to some of your students in their early 20’s huddled up in the corner.

“Hahah! Yes...it’s true. I have a boyfriend like any other person on earth. Nothing to see here” you said, shushing them away with your hand. “Nothing to see?? Ms. Y/N ...your boyfriend is Tommy Conlon..he’s basically a celebrity” one of the guys cried out, getting smacked by the girl next to him to be quiet, especially with Tommy was standing a few feet away.

“Yes ..” you replied, “He is very talented. But that’s not the reason I-“ you paused, “Ah never mind...run along now children” causing the young ones to protest in response. Mocking them with a peace sign, you turned to run up to Tommy.

It has been four weeks since you first walked into Colt Boyd’s gym and laid eyes on the man who eventually became your boyfriend a week after. Since the three weeks you’ve been together, people around town have started to notice the two of you, and occasional remarks like earlier was something you started to get used to. In your heart, you remembered very clearly why you fell for this man. Many reasons were there, true. But mainly cause of how he “killed” away a past that haunted you.

“Sorry about that” you apologized as you halted before Tommy. “Nah...” he smiled softly, “ it’s okay” ruffling your hair in assurance, “How did it go?” “Very well actually...they picked it up faster than I expected, so” you proceeded to give thumbs up in satisfaction. “How about the training?” You asked, both starting walk. Tommy merely nodded, “Ya know..the usual...”

“Of course” you nodded in return. He chuckled out the blue.

“Hey...bet ya can’t jog home”

“What? Hell Yeah i can...bu- wait! NOW?” You shouted after him as he darted off.

“Cardio..it’s good Cardio” you told yourself as you set off after him, “Tommy wait!”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tommy opened the door while you finally caught up to him. Panting, you rested your palms on your knees.

“Thanks for the extra cardio, babe” you said in an ironic tone.

“Anytime” he replied teasingly, letting you enter while he followed you inside.

Putting your hair up in a loose bun, you headed to your room. Walking to the kitchen, Tommy opened the fridge, removing the cap of a bottle of orange juice, gulping down a generous amount in seconds.

“Babe..is that orange juice ?” You called out from your room, “Mm-yeah” Tommy replied, wiping his mouth, reading the contents of the bottle. “Oh..save some for me..” he heard your voice get closer. As you grabbed the bottle from his hands, Tommy looked up. His eyes widened when he realized you’ve taken off your loose shirt, only to be standing in your track pants and sports bra.  Body glistened with sweat, you gulped down the juice, unaware of the gaze Tommy had on you. The way your neck moved and your chest heaved. Though he just quenched his thirst, another thirst was left unattended to.

Finishing the bottle, your lips smacked as you took it off your mouth. “Mmm...definitely buying this again next time” you muttered, licking your lips, “..wonder if we have more..” you opened the fridge, peaking to check.

Suddenly, Tommy closed the door of the fridge  with a bang. “Tommy? What-“  You were spun round to be pushed against the door. No time wasted to explained, as you felt Tommy’s pillowy lips pressed on yours. Eyes closed instantly, you kissed him back, cupping his face while his own hands rested firmly on your shoulders.

“Mmm...” you said, licking your lips as he pulled away.

“What?”

“You taste like salt” you replied, in mid concentration.

“Cause it’s sweat, silly” he teased, letting out a low chuckle.

You smiled back, fingers slowly running down his cheek. His chuckle faded the moment your light touches fed him the thirst. As if you felt his fire on your fingers, your mood changed alongside him as he bent down to reunite with your lips. This time his hands moved over to your waist, fingers digging inside your pants, roughly holding on to the skin of your waist. Your mouth opened with a whimper as Tommy’s tongue slid inside. Kisses so deep you lost balance for a while, making your head bump into the refrigerator door a few times to hold yourself up. You wanted to be lost inside  this feeling, but apparently not Tommy.

His Feathery kisses sprayed on your cheeks, surprising you as you felt him taste your own sweat in the process. The moment his lips left your jawline, you were ecstatic to look forward to the moment when he will give sensitivity a whole different meaning. And you could not keep quiet when his lips made stops behind your ears, tickling you and arousing you simultaneously. You suddenly felt the existence of your nether regions when those lips you worshiped made its way down to your collarbone, then generous or greedy enough to taste the exposed skin on your chest. With his hand moving up, a few fingers pulled down the neckline of your sports bra, kissing the exposed cleavage.

 “Tommy” you hold his head up, stopping him.The way your voice sounded, Tommy wondered whether things were going too far. Whatever that made you stop him, didn’t really matter at that point. For to his surprise, you proceeded to slip down both straps from your shoulders, which encouraged you to kiss you again.  Helping you pull them down, the sports bra ended up on your waist as the two lovers continued kissing. Pushing yourself away from the fridge, you pulled Tommy by his t-shirt as you backed away. His palms rested on your buttocks, gripping them as you found yourself against the kitchen table. Sitting on it, you felt Tommy’s hands on your hair, gently pulling out the hair tie that formed your loose bun.

You laid on the table, loose hair sprawled along with you, as you watched Tommy take off his own shirt, revealing his muscular tattooed torso. Pulling you closer by the leg, he bent down, resting his head on your chest as he continued to press his soft lips on the lines of your exposed breasts. Your fingers entangled in his sweaty hair tightly, finding a way to control your moans while he ran his tongue over your buds. His kisses turned sloppy and desperate, moving lower to your stomach, pulling the sports bra down along with your track pants. His clothed erection brushed against your knee as he fully stripped you naked on the table.

Enough of a motivation as you quickly sat up, while he pulled out his shaft, holding you as he inserted himself inside you. With your hands firmly on the table , you adjusted yourself accordingly.

Those initial thrusts were slow and careful. The moment he saw you throw your head back, the paced  increased with confidence. The table shook slightly as he kept going, but as he lowered down to kiss you hungrily, those pushes got stronger. Moaning to his mouth, your fingernails dug deep into the table. The sudden creaking noises of the wood was new, and they certainly alarmed you, for you have never heard it make that noise before.

“Wait!”

Fortunately it was Tommy who decided to stop. You slowly sat upright.

“Yeah..” you panted,” pretty sure this ain’t the best place...” sweat trickled down your temple as you spoke. Kissing it,Tommy listened to you hum in pleasure as he licked the sweat off your skin.

“The shower?” He asked in a deep tone, eager to proceed elsewhere. Chuckling, you bit your lip, nodding in agreement while wrapping your arms around him to share more salty kisses.

[screambirdscreaming]

personal rambling

For the past couple years I’ve been working to build a way of functioning that doesn’t hurt me. Before that, I was running on a mode of pretty much pure determination - pushing myself to do the next thing that had to be done, and the thing after that, and the thing after that. Partly that was because of the chronic pain. There’s a way things get, when you’re in pain all the goddamn time, where you just don’t have the bandwidth to feel emotions in any kind of complex way. Like when you’re nose is stuffed up from a cold and you can’t smell anything or taste any of the complex subtle flavors, just your basic “sweet” “salty” “bitter” kinds of categories. But with emotions it’s like “frustration” and “determination” and the rare, ever elusive “calmness”. That’s about as good as it gets - feeling like things are pretty ok and you don’t need to be fighting right now immediately. Oh, and hysterical amusement. And satisfaction - satisfaction is good.  But things like the joy when you see a really good bird, or the feeling you get when you smell wet earth, or the things music makes you feel... they just get kind of squished out. Or at least, for me they did.

And then I got on medication that actually managed the pain. And I started being able to feel these things again, to notice and appreciate things outside of the very narrow pathway of “the thing I need to do next” which I’d been focusing all my energy on. And I felt - I can’t describe what a wonder it was, and what a relief, to feel things like that again, after I’d almost forgotten they existed. I wanted to learn to live that way. 

But I was still swamped with depression, and anxiety, and what I very belatedly identified as sensory processing issues and executive dysfunction. I still had to pour almost all my energy into making things happen, one step at a time. But as I tried to keep moving forward that way, all determination all the time, I realized that - it wasn’t possible to do both. That bitter, powerful determination that had carried me through so much was the determination of “fuck it, everything’s awful anyway, I might as well do this too.” It existed on the far side of being so miserable I couldn’t function. And having crossed back across that gap of misery, I couldn’t reach it anymore. If I pushed too far, tried to force myself to do too much, it would hurt me. Or rather, it always hurt me, but now I had the potential to experience things other than bitter exhausted hurt, and I wanted to try that. To try not hurting.

It still frustrates me. To remember being able to just do things, to just make myself do things with willpower alone - I can’t do that now, really. Or I can, but only a little bit, and sometimes it just doesn’t work. Sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice. It’s easy to romanticize it, from a couple year’s distance. It’s easy to think maybe it wasn’t that bad. But here’s a weird little trick your brain plays on you: you don’t remember pain. You can’t. Your brain just doesn’t form memories of what pain feels like. Which is, probably, for the best. But it makes it easy to second-guess yourself. You remember how much you hated the pain, and you remember thinking about how miserable you were, but you can’t feel the misery anymore. So. I choose to trust my past self, who made this choice, on the tipping point between pain and relief. They’re probably the only version of myself who actually understood the options. I hope they chose well.

And what they chose was - to define “doing my best” as “doing a reasonable amount that will not hurt me.” To stop pushing when pushing started to hurt me. And instead, to try to learn to do things by following what I found interesting and satisfying to do, what I could focus on without fighting my brain. To learn to recognize my different mental states, and what kind of work I could and couldn’t do in each of them, and what things I could do to influence what mental state i’m more or less likely to be in. Rather than pushing harder to make myself do something, I try to find ways to deconstruct and reframe it to be easier to approach. I feel like I’m juggling with my adhd, or setting up elaborate mazes to lead it down to the outcomes I want, like a clever hero outwitting a monster. Only it’s not a monster. It’s a way of thinking, a way of being. I made it through pretty much my whole childhood never thinking of it as a bad thing, being proud of it even - or at least of various parts of it, like the way I can hyperfocus on a project for hours and make something even I didn’t know was within my abilities. And sure, I’ve always felt like there are downsides, or things I struggle with, but everyone has those.

I just feel, more and more, like it’s hard to give myself space to think the way I think and function the way I function, and still keep up with what’s expected of me. I’m terrible with time, I’m always late to everything. The older I get the less forgiving people are of that, and while I can scrape by as a student - that’s the sort of thing that could loose me a job, once I get one, and I’m still barely more on top of it than I was a few years ago. And I can’t really explain to people why this is such a fundamental problem, why this is such a big deal. Back when the pain was really bad, I remember trying to explain to the boss at my summer job that it was harder for me to “just push through” my problems with time than it was to “just push through” doing farmwork with pain equivalent to continuous labor contractions. I have no reliable internal perception of the passage of time - I can’t perceive the difference between three hours passing and 20 minutes. Also, trying to align myself to the flow of time which I cannot perceive makes me massively anxious. If I try too hard, pay too much attention to the way time randomly slips away and try to set lots of alarms and calculate how long it takes me to finish things - I have a panic attack and don’t leave the house at all. I know it sounds dumb. I know, I know. But I promise you, whatever trick with a clock or a planner you want to suggest, I’ve tried it, and it hasn’t worked. I’m getting better at working around it. As long as I don’t focus on it too directly. I have a vague sense of how long it takes me to get ready in the morning, and I set my alarms to wake up at a time that seems kinda reasonable, adjusted through trial and error when I start a new schedule, and I get up and get ready and leave and catch a bus without ever checking a clock, and whatever happens, happens. I’m usually not more than 10 minutes late. I know that doesn’t sound impressive, but believe me, it’s progress. 

Once I get out of the house it’s better. I’m already moving, I can keep moving, as long as I have a continuous set of things to do until I get home again. I try to plan my schedule so that I have plenty of time to get between places I need to be, without having to rush to catch a specific bus or anything like that, but not so much time I get distracted. It’s a balance. I’ve made so much progress, and at this point I feel like it’s reliable enough that if people could tolerate me being not more than 10 minutes late, I’d be fine. But that’s too much to ask, in the modern world. And I don’t know how much better I can make it.

I feel like I’m trying so hard to build myself a mode of functioning that doesn’t hurt me, that works with my adhd rather than against it, and I feel like what I’ve built works really well - but it still feels like it’s not enough. Like I still can’t conform to the expectations of society.  And I try to go looking for other perspectives, other people’s advice, because I’ve derived all of this myself by trial and error and maybe someone out there has something that would help? Something that I could use without figuring it out the hard way? But I feel like everything I can find about ADHD is about conforming to the expectations of society. Like, that’s the baseline. It’s all about how much extra effort you can pour in to using a planner like a normal person. I’ve always felt like structured planners make you do twice the work putting everything in a certain order, and then don’t help at all. I’ve found my own strategies for writing things down and organizing them that do help. Some of them even look a little like some of the things in a planner. But I made them to work with the weird patterns in my brain, not to impose their patterns on me. And I can’t find that perspective anywhere.

I want to find somewhere where people are talking about ADHD as a way of thinking and being that is self-contained and self-sufficient and doesn’t need to be “managed.” I feel like that’s almost hypocritical of me, because I think about “managing” my adhd a lot. But that’s shorthand for “managing the ways the expectations of society interface badly with my adhd, and also, rederiving a bunch of general organizational tactics and strategies for doing things because the ones I was taught as a kid mostly don’t work for me.”��

I still feel a little like I’m being stupid and selfish, going to this much effort to try and construct a way of being when I know I can do the other option. I can push myself through misery and out the other side, to a place where I don’t feel miserable anymore, just exhausted and fiercely, bitterly determined. I’ve done it before. I could do it again.  And I feel like... a lot of people with adhd must end up there. It’s not that bad once you get used to it, and it interfaces with society pretty well, and you can do so much. I feel like I know a lot of people who are still dealing with chronic pain who still function like that. Honestly I’m incredibly lucky, to have gotten treatment in only two years. That’s a crazy good turnaround time for chronic pain. And I feel kind of like a hack, to have connected with that community (at least here on the internet) and to have related so much to that experience and the way of being it brings about, and to the coping strategies people had - and then, to not be there. To be doing this other thing, which I’m so stupidly lucky to even get to try to do.  I don’t know. Maybe I get to be selfish. Maybe I get to at least try this, and feel these cool weird feelings, and be inspired to do art sometimes, and I might not function that much but it’s alright. I feel like I have a responsibility to do good work in the world - not because work determines worth, but because I have the resources and the capacity and so I should use them to make things better in whatever ways I can reach. And sometimes it seems like my selfishness isn’t worth the balance of how much I could do, if I just pushed through and decided to do it - but maybe I’d burn myself out. Maybe it’s enough to live a life I enjoy and do a little work when I can but not sacrifice myself to it. I don’t know. I’m trying this, anyway.